


The Linework

by Control_Room



Series: The Big Picture [10]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Amputation, Avoiding Consequences, Brief Transformation, Comedy, Comfort, Decapitation, Dependency, Disabled Character, Dreams and Nightmares, Drug Addiction, Earning another Chance, Family, Flashbacks, Fluff, Forgiveness, Gen, Growth, Healing, Healthy Polyamory, Healthy Relationships, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied Eye Trauma, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Injury, Jewish Themes, Jewish themes written by a jewish author, Justice and Mercy, Kisses, Letters Home, Literary References & Allusions, Love, Magic, Marriage Proposal, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pacifism, Paralysis, Parenthood, Possible Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Proposals, Regret, Relapsing, Responsibility, Romance, Running Away, Second Chances, Self Sacrifice, Self destruction, Shawn being Shawn, Symbolism, The Ink Machine, Trust, Video Game Mechanics, Violence, World War II referenced, bacon soup, bringing back the dead, changing for the better, dads trying their best, getting better, honorable discharge, johan discovers the term 'treat yourself', kicking a bastard into hell, making amends, memory lapses, most ships are background, unlearning unhealthy coping skills, war drafts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 65,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21969136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: Joey Drew is not perfect. Nor is Henry Stein. Or any of the workers of the studio.Then again, nothing is.Perfection does not exist.Other things do, though.
Relationships: Joey Drew & Bertrum Piedmont, Joey Drew/Henry Stein, Lacie Benton/Bertrum Piedmont, Others mentioned, Susie Campbell & Joey Drew, Susie Campbell/Allison Pendle, The Jays, Thomas Connor/Wally Franks/Sammy Lawrence
Series: The Big Picture [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1254296
Comments: 44
Kudos: 16





	1. Ache

Henry’s eyes flew open. When had he slept? Why was his head pounding so terribly? What happened? Where was Linda? Was he at work? Where was….

“Joey?” he croaked, lifting his head off his desk. A paper came away with him, clinging to his cheek with a comforting hug. His heart stung, and his hand felt the area. Nothing but the ghost of a knife between his ribs…. Alarm spread into him, and he jumped up, spinning around the art department, globe like eyes darting this way and that. He cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice better, and called for the man again. “Joey?!”

What happened?! Was Joey alright? Where was he? 

Mind churning to process the memories of the future that had already happened, but would never happen again, he remembered the final nail in the coffin, the moment that Johan slowly lost himself, even though everything seemed to be going just right. Telling Johan off not to make the machine. Joey was playing chess then, right, against no one. Henry dashed off, coat flapping behind him, and he took to the stairs three at a time. This time, the door to the lanky man’s apartment was locked. He banged on it, desperate to hear him, to see him, to touch him, to smell him, and to kiss him silly. And maybe demand an explanation, but that could wait. 

“J-Just a moment,” Johan called, and Henry could hear something metallic slam to the ground. A moment later, the door clicked open, and Henry stared up at Johan. Neither spoke, then Johan teared up, turning away, opening the door fully for Henry to enter. Already a prototype machine was typed up and displayed on the screen of Johan’s computer, and Henry found himself grateful to see it, for some reason. Joey knew what he was doing, and Henry knew he could trust him. He would trust him to know when his life should be or not. Johan’s voice was meek and weak when he spoke again, though. “T-tea?”

“That would be nice, yeah,” Henry breathed, sitting heavily on the couch. He called to Joey in the kitchen. “We’re gonna have to talk, Jo.”

“I know, Ray,” Joey whispered, nearly unnoticeable, but Henry caught it. He sighed, leaning his head back. A cup of tea was set beside him, and his hand shot out to catch Johan’s before it moved away. Their eyes met, and Joey sighed, fingers curling around Henry’s. He sat beside him, and they both gazed out of the window, to the bees and flowers below. “What a tangled web is w-woven around us, eh?”

“Tangled indeed,” Henry agreed, taking his tea and sipping some of it. “So. What happened?”

“I’d like to know as well,” Bertrum’s voice was strong and concerned, Lacie standing beside him and nodding. “I think you owe this one to the whole studio, if not the whole world.” 

“Uh… understandable,” Johan meekly responded to his uncle. “Well, it’s not so long of a story. There was, and is, a disease perpetrated by the ink machine, that is, i-if it was not made. Seeing that I did not make it in the past future, the sickness swept over the world.”

“Mm. So get to work,” Lacie sternly told him. “I want blueprints by tonight.”

“Affirmative,” Johan sighed, looking back out the window. He wished he could leap from it to be caught by the wind, and fly over the sea, in the warmth of the sun. “I’ll make sure to do that.”

When the two older ones left, Henry returned his gaze to Joey. Joey’s eyes were steadfastly trained on the outside, lips closed and eyes unseeing. 

Warm hand on cheek. Gentle guiding to meet eyes. A thousand million words spoken in a gaze, sadness, happiness, loss, hope, guilt, guilt, guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” Johan breathed, eyes welling with hundreds of tears. His head lowered, but Henry picked it back up. “Henry, Henry, I, I, Henry….”

“Joey, please…” Henry’s words were hardly more than a murmur on winds. “Please, I… I love you. I love you, a lot. You can talk to me about anything, you know that, right?”

“Nooo,” Johan’s voice was choppy and weak. “No, no, no….”

“Yes,” Henry firmly told him, tightening his hold on Joey’s hand. He pressed their foreheads together. “You can tell me anything at all. Anything you want.”

“It’s not th-that,” Joey hiccuped, some tears escaping him. “You c-can’t love me. N-not after, not after what I did.”

“I can love you, and I do love you,” Henry affirmed, holding Joey still, looking him in the eyes. Another protest slipped from Joey’s mouth, a quieter one, his eyes squeezing shut tightly to avoid Henry’s soft, loving gaze. “Look at me. Look at me!”

“No, no, no,” Joey pulled himself away, spilling his own tea onto the floor, stumbling backwards on weak legs. Through hazy vision he could see bloodstains on his pants, and deep in his heart, he knew they were Henry’s. With another hiccuping sob, he ran out the door, but he was caught around his waist, Henry’s firm hold on him pulling him back. He was half dragged, half carried, into his bedroom, pulled down onto his bed, kept in place with blankets tucking around him. “Stop it, Hen, I have t-to work, I c-can’t, you c-can’t, I gotta go work.”

“Stay here, stay right here with me,” Henry coaxed him to lay down, leaning close as though to kiss him, Joey recoiling away from him. Pain twisted a dagger deep in Henry’s heart. “Joey, please, what’s the matter?”

Johan only sobbed, hiding his face from the doctor. 

“Joey, please.”

“No, no, no….” Johan thrashed, Henry catching his wrists. “Leggo!”

“Look at me, Johan!”

“Let me go, Henry!”

“Tell me what’s wrong!” Henry pleaded, letting go, but putting arms on both sides of Joey, effectively pinning him. “Or at least promise you will tell me soon, please.”

“It’s YOU!” Johan shrieked.

“Me…?” Henry’s arms pulled away from Johan as he sat up tall on the bed. Joey wept, covering his face. “I’m… I’m what?”

“You’re the problem, I-I, I don’t understand,” Johan cried, shoulders shaking. “How… how?!”

“How what?” Henry asked softly, hand reaching to Joey, not quite making it before he pulled it back away, falling to his side. “How I love you? Love is much harder to explain than a few words, Joey, you know that. But I know I love you.”

“Maybe you just don’t remember yet,” Johan sighed, pushing himself out of bed, scrubbing at his eyes. Henry did not protest this time, letting him get up even though he did not want him to. “Or maybe you forgot.”

Henry watched silently as the door to the bedroom opened and shut, Joey stepping out and leaving him there on his own bed. Exhaling slowly, Henry tried to think of what Johan was referring to. Forgot what? He remembered everything, being alone, and Linda on the bed… the very bed he sat on.

What did he forget?

He remembered everything going white after a brief pain, yes, he remembered that strange, black and white tunnel feeling of dying, but what had Joey been trying to hide by killing him? Was that it? That he had killed him before the illness would cause him to suffer for ages? Or was it something else? 

Did Joey think that Henry was not infected? Because he was, he just had not told him, he did not want the lanky man to worry, though worry he did, always worrying. Henry, to try and quell those worries, would leave the house whenever he felt the inky disease sweeping over his system, leaving to a world he knew was empty to let the pain carry itself out.

Johan was sensitive to death. Henry had seen him weep for a spider, once. He always invested his soul into every bit of life he came across, no matter how great or small. 

Henry sighed, rubbing his forehead.

Of course Joey would be hurt by the massive toll of death sweeping through the lands. But what was bothering him about Henry in particular? What had he forgotten? Did he forget anything at all, and Joey just thought he did? That seemed the most likely. 

Henry pushed himself off the soft bed, and made his way slowly downstairs. He stumbled down, yawning with tiredness, but made sure to stop in the bathroom to spruce himself up and wake a little more.

He found Joey in the Bendy Land department, on a mechanic’s creeper, already working on a hulking monstrosity to soon be known as the Ink Machine. Henry put his foot under the creeper, pulling Joey out from underneath the machine. As soon as Johan saw who was trying to get him out, he tried to pull himself back, but Henry was faster and stronger, and pulled him all the way out from the mechanical beast. Joey’s eyes remained on Henry’s feet, until Henry stepped closer, and then he sobbed, shoulders shaking, and latched onto Henry, his head falling onto Henry’s stomach, feeling the short man’s heartbeat against his forehead. 

Henry’s big, gentle hands soothingly ran over his head, helping him ride out the bawling, his weeping drawn away by genteel, repetitive motion. Johan soon became calm, though he still shook, holding tightly onto Henry’s sides.

“Don’t you remember?” Joey’s voice was weak, meek, and hollow. “I killed you.”

“I know.”

“Then…” Joey looked up at him, grief stricken eyes full of wonder and sadness. “H-how? How can you say those words to me? I-I… I love you, but you, you c-can’t, you can’t….”

“I do love you, Joey Drew,” Henry said with complete honesty and firm resolution. Honesty that blazed into Joey’s heart, melting him. “And even death cannot part it.”

With that, Henry enveloped him in a hug, tight, warm, loving, tender, gentle, encompassing, and Joey bit his lip, trying to keep from crying out, his own hands hesitant to return the hug. But he did hug him back, though his arms shook terribly and his eyes were overflowing with tears.

“It’s okay Johan,” Henry whispered, and kissed Joey’s ear. “It’s okay. We’re here. We’re together. We can get through it all.”

“I’ll do the hardest p-part,” Joey promised quietly. He smiled, that brilliant full smile, not his nervous lopsided one, showing his extraordinary teeth, the ones that reminded Henry that his love was not all that he seemed, but he was his love, and that was what mattered. “With you.”

Henry beamed with pure happiness, and laughed, hugging Johan, lifting him up into the air and twirling with him, he the solid rock of earth, Joey the flowing mythos and wonders of the skies and seas. One could not be complete without the other, both needing and loving each other with their whole hearts and souls. Well, not needing - they were not dependent on each other, but the presence of them both was so comforting and wonderful to each. 

And how comforting Henry was to Joey then!

He was a firm reminder that life was continuing on, that life had been brought back. He was an anchor for his emotions and feelings, keeping him grounded, reminding him not all was lost. He was the comfort of home, proof that home was where the heart lay, and Joey’s was with Henry, forever and always. He was the comfort of sunshine on the ocean and of strawberries in lavender, of bliss and rest and comfort itself.

“I love you,” Joey sighed, tired out, pulled close to his angel. “I love you, Henry.”

“I love you, too,” Henry smiled, pulling Joey up, spinning him around once more to land him in a dip, smiling at his surprised expression. “Johan.”

“Yes, angel?” Joey breathed, eyes wide. “What can I do for you? Just say the word.”

“Oh, Joey,” Henry laughed, holding his hands. “How about dancing, honeybee?”

“I’d love to, but,” Joey glanced to the machine. “What about a quick samba, and then I’ll go back to work, and after we can dance the night away. H-how about that?”

“I didn’t mean right now,” Henry corrected with a laugh. “I meant just us. Dancing whenever you’d like. But I’d love to dance with you after work. I can be patient, you know.”

“Yeah, right,” Johan snorted, and Henry’s heart fluttered at his adorable laugh. “And I’m the queen of England.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No, Henry, I’m not.”

“Could have fooled me,” Henry teased, running his hands up Joey’s arm to pull him down to his level, seeing fluster blossom on his face. “Cause you’re gorgeous like royalty.”

“Quit your flattery,” Johan scolded him, rolling his eyes and pulling the creeper back towards himself with his foot. Henry folded his arms and watched as he got himself back onto it, wheeling along with him a flat tray of tools. Just when Joey was about to pull himself underneath the machine, Henry put his foot onto the edge of the creeper and pulled him back out with a smile gracing his lips. Joey rose an eyebrow as Henry moved to stand above him. “What is it? I need to work.”

“Work on this, smartass,” Henry instructed, dropping to his knees, stradling Joey. The chicano’s eyes went wide, and his mouth opened slightly, any retort he may have had lost. Without another word, Henry pushed him down, and pulled them both under the machine.

“Wrench,” Thomas extended his hand to Wally. The tool was put into it as the janitor rambled to Sammy about who knows what. “Hammer.”

“Here,” Wally passed it to him, then returned his attention to the music director. “And so I told Wills that he really needs to calm down a bit, ya know what I mean? Also why the heck is Drew installing pipes in here?”

“So Sammy can just get ink for his music whenever he needs without having to deal with us common folk,” Thomas chuckled. Sammy snorted and rolled his eyes. “Nah, it’s just the layout of the building. Here’s one of the best places to put it, that’s all. And Sammy can get ink.”

“I think we all need to calm down a lot,” Sammy grumbled, jotting down some notes. “Especially Drew. That man runs on nothing but honey and water. It’s a huge miracle he’s still standing up at all, in my opinion at least.”

“I agree with you on that one,” Thomas nodded, even though Sammy could not see him in his position inside the wall, tightening another bolt into the framework. “Except for one little thing, the H factor, if you catch my meaning.”

“Mhm,” Wally grinned, tossing him another tool. “With that factor around, well, it’s like he’s a whole new man. Calmer, happier. It’s good for both of ‘em.”

“True,” Sammy admitted, smiling slightly as he thought of the pair. “Not to mention they’re rather… sweet, together. Joey seems like he’s flying around Henry. So… light.”

The three of them lapsed into silence, broken only by the scratches of Sammy’s pen, the tapping of Wally’s foot, and Thomas’ tinkering. 

“Maybe we should go on a little vacation,” Wally suggested. “Not too far, but somewhere south, warm, beaches, calm, y’know? Just a little get away, for the three of us. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Thomas laughed a little, nearly falling off the stepping ladder he stood on while working. “Sammy? Any input for this escape?”

“Well, maybe…” the musician rapt against his desk in a steady rhythm, thinking. “It would be nice to get a little time to ourselves.”

“Yes!” Wally clapped his hands, grinning widely. “It’s settled then, we track down Drew or Stein and get a break. No objections now, we’re going in about a month! We’re outta here!”

“Hold your horses, Wally,” Thomas called down to him. “I still need to finish working on all these pipes and Joey’s other projects. I don’t know how long it’ll take, so you need to rein in that restless energy for a while now. Pass me the hammer, again. I dropped it.”

“Hold it better next time,” Wally retorted, but got him the iron tool anyways. “So, where should we go off to?”

“You already said it, somewhere with a beach,” Thomas replied. Sammy nodded, and added in, “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind taking a road trip down south, a bit further out. It’ll take more time, but I rather like car trips.”

The three of them continued to plan, and Sammy’s pen scratches became notes as he slowly had a melody forming in his head, the dam of creative blockage shattered and strewn apart with the idea of a vacation with the men he adored. He finally managed to write a new song for an episode, bright, bouncy, hopeful and jolly. He was excited, and though he would not show it on his stoic face, it was clearly written in his music. Thomas hummed as he stepped down from the miniature ladder, Wally folding it and hoisting it over to the closet. Sammy settled down his papers, sorting through what was junk, what was salvageable, what was good, and what was finished, normally a lengthy process, but one that took only a few minutes as he just placed nearly everything into the salvageable pile and followed after Thomas and Wally on their search for either Joey or Henry to demand a vacation for the trio. 

They could not find Henry in his work space, nor Joey in his office or apartment. They were still looking for them when the buzz of the clocks signified the end of the work day. Sammy grumbled a complaint that was swallowed back by Wally’s hand taking his own, cooling his temper. Thomas asked around if anyone had seen either of their bosses, without much luck until a Bendy Land worker snapped their fingers and mentioned that they had seen Joey downstairs. So the three of them went off slowly in search of the lanky artist, and indeed found him near the Bendy Land work area, underneath the secondary prototype for the ink machine. What they could see of him was squirming, his voice mingling with Henry’s. Sammy tried to hold back a smirk, grins blatantly on both Thomas’ and Wally’s faces. 

“Should we interrupt them?” Thomas quietly asked them, Wally already heading over and knocking on the side of the machine. A hollow thud followed, immediately after which a stream of curses poured from Henry. Joey’s laughter, tinged with a little worry, joined the sounds. Joey called out, “Who is it?”

“Me, Tom, and Sam,” Wally replied, glancing at the two of them. “Since it seems that you and Henry are… uh… busy, we can come back another ti-”

“No, no, we’ll, we’ll be right out in a moment,” Johan clearly was trying very hard not to laugh, and was failing terribly. He managed to pull the two out, and the three newcomers stared at his bare chest before they all looked in different directions. Henry covered Joey with his lab coat, the man whispering his thanks. “So, what do you three want?”

“A vacation,” Sammy quickly answered. “Just some time away from all the commotion and hubbub.”

“Sure,” Henry shrugged, exchanging a glance with Joey. “Just let one of us know when, alright?”

“Got it,” Thomas replied, then ushered his boyfriends out, smiling. “Let’s give ‘em some privacy.”

Warmth.

Flying.

Wings? 

He looked back over his shoulders, wax and metal merged into appendages of flight.

Wings.

The sun carried him over the waves, the light golden and pink, the waters black and calling.

Sunshine.

Heat.

Heat.

Too hot.

Flames.

Blazing effigy.

Joey woke up in Henry’s arms with a sharp breath, feeling sore yet refreshed, but overly hot.

He pried himself out of the warm safety of Henry’s arms, breathing slow and steady, his head pounding with the force of a thousand seas battering against his skull, seeping into the crevices of his brain and purging all thoughts.

They had not done anything, had they…?

He glanced down at himself, relieved to find most of his clothing in place.

Good. 

He managed to get to his computer, rubbing his head.

Numerica.

No, no, no, that was bad. Just make some ibuprofen or something.

He took the pill with some honey tea, swallowing it with as little effort as he could manage.

“Morning, sunshine,” Henry’s low tones eased his headache, driving it away. Arms wrapped around his waist, soft cheeks rubbing against his bare back. He flinched, then breathed, reminding himself that perfection was impossible, and his flaws were part of him, and that Henry loved all of him, even those scars. Nothing was on his back. “How are you feeling? Didn’t go too far last night, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” Johan murmured, his hand finding the back of Henry’s, giving it a light squeeze. “I d-don’t quite remember last night, though….”

“Mm, it went something like this,” Henry twirled him around, pushing him onto the couch, running his hands over Joey’s chest. Joey giggled a little, kissing Henry softly. Henry chuckled. “That happened a lot, too, yeah.”

“I think I got the picture,” Johan smiled, then pushed himself up despite Henry’s attempts to keep him down. “Come on darlin’, I gotta get to work. Come on, please… I’ll make you coffee.”

“Fine,” Henry pouted, “But I’ll complain the whole time.”

“What if it’s really good coffee,” Joey inquired, mixing in strawberry sugar, handing it to Henry, pecking a kiss onto his shoulder. Henry thanked him by catching him over his shoulder and kissing his lips, holding him close, pocketing little gasps and a small, “Henry….”

“Yes, cher?” Henry smirked as Johan’s fluster painted itself over his face, ears perking up indignantly. Henry ran his hands through his hair. “God, aren’t you a cutie. So sweet, I could just spend all day kissing you.”

“Shut up and drink your coffee,” Johan pursed his lips. “Seriously, quit your flattery.”

“It’s not flattery!” Henry sputtered, but took a sip of his coffee anyways, delighting in the taste and then drinking the vast majority of it. “It’s honesty.”

“Yeah, right,” Joey muttered, pulling on his tank top and shirt, slipping on his pin, pricking his finger. “Ouch!”

“You okay there, m'eudail?” Henry asked, looking over at him. Joey rinsed his finger in the sink, peering at the blood. His head spun. Were his hands all in one piece? They looked shattered, they looked pulled apart, they seemed… seemed… seemed…

“JOEY!”

“Wh-what?” Johan’s chest heaved, arms held down by Henry’s broad hands, his wrists pinned over his head. He slowed his breathing, focusing on the breath, in and out. Johan flinched as he saw the worried look in Henry’s eyes. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I think… I think we should get you to the office,” Henry quietly told him, letting go of his arms. They quickly wrapped around Henry’s shoulders, Joey burying his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent, deep and strong. “Not… not your office. My medical evaluation office. I think you have, uh… PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder.”

“Is that bad?” Johan asked, his voice nearly empty. His hands shook. “What is it?”

“It’s… a lot of different things mixing together. Flashbacks, shakes, nightmares… it’s not awful, and it can be treated, but it might resurface every so often,” Henry informed him. He handed him his tea, lukewarm, and then took his hands, hot, stressed, anxious. “We can get you medications for it….”

“No, no medications,” Joey shivered, remembering how easily things pulled him into addictions. “I’m fine. I’ll just be fine. Th-thank you. I’ll be okay.”

“Johan, it might help,” Henry tried to persuade him. “I know that you’ve had bad experiences with drugs and stuff, but these will all be monitored.”

“No.” Johan felt dizzy as he pushed himself off the floor. “Working hard will help, That’s it. That’s all, all I need. Just good hard work.”

“Fine,” Henry conceded. “But I’m still diagnosing you with PTSD.”

“Not like it does much for me now,” Johan snorted, brushing off his shirt, grasping his cane. “Not like it really would have done much for me ever.”

“It’s good to know what’s wrong with yo-”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” Johan’s voice dropped to an icy coldness. “I’m just fine, Doctor.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Henry tried to backtrack, yanking on his lab coat, following him out the door quickly. “I meant it like, uh, medically. Most of the time your results are anomalous.”

“Is that what I am to you?” Joey’s voice had hurt in it, making Henry wince. “Just one of y-your lab rats? I know that you also ‘test’ around with Chase. Seeing what makes me wrong, ain’t it?”

“No, no, Joey, c’mon,” he caught his hand on the stairs, their heights matched by the gap between the two. “Listen to me, please, I am just looking out for you. Your health is fragile, and the board doesn’t allow me to use your results for my tests, and that’s why I have Chase helping me. Nothing is wrong with you.”

Joey’s shoulders slumped, and he stared at the floor. 

“A lot of things are wrong with me, Ray,” he exhaled, managing to meet his eye. “But I’m working on them.”

He continued down to build up the machine.

“I blew it, didn’t I,” Henry groaned, rubbing his forehead. He and Bertrum were on a platform overlooking Bendy Land, watching the construction go by. Johan was visible every now and then, mostly in the walls and within the machine, tinkering and tweaking. “Just last night, everything was going swell, and now he won’t even look at me.”

“You know how Johan is,” Bertrum shrugged, waving to Lacie. “Lets people in, then gets all defensive until he lets them in again. He’s spooked by closeness.”

“Ugh,” Henry smacked his head on the railing with a hollow thud, repeatedly, tonk, tonk, tonk, until Bertrum gently pulled him away from the rail. “I just want to, you know. Be with him.”

“Give him a little time, is all,” Bertrum coaxed him to calm down. He grumbled, but let himself cool off anyways. “You and I both know he’s a hopeless romantic, go ahead and figure something out. I’m sure that you’ll be able to find something to do or what not. Take him out to a candle lit dinner. Go to a drive in movie. Read with him. Just ease him into it.”

“Sure, sure,” Henry rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I swear he’s like a pull door marked push, and when someone corrects me, ‘aye lad, and I was just about to start lifting it from the bottom’.”

“That’s not half bad,” Bertrum laughed. Henry stared at him with a blank yet venomous look. “Pick him up, spin him around - you know him best. He loves you greatly, you cretin.”

“Whatever, old man,” Henry laughed, finally in a better mood. He hopped onto the next cart to go down the rails to the main floor area. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll make sure to do the opposite of what you told me.”

At the same time he rode away, Lacie came up in the next cart, hopping off and getting caught by Bertrum, who helped hir upright hirself.

“Kids,” Bertrum muttered, but with a smile. Lacie tossed hir arm over his shoulder, pulling him in for a one armed hug, and she laughed in agreement. “Kids indeed - half the time you teach ‘em to talk, the next half you’re tellin’ ‘em to shut up.”

“Come now, dear Lacie,” Bertrum’s arm went around hir waist, holding hir close. “Even though the vast majority of the time, they say nothing but nonsense, sometimes they have sparks of wisdom flecked into their words.”

“Sometimes,” Lacie slowly agreed, watching Henry approach the ink machine, knocking on it and Johan popping out. They could not make out the words they were saying, but it seemed sweet enough, Joey shuffling around with a tinge of red on his face, Henry with a matching stripe across his cheeks. “But most of the time they bumble around like complete idiots.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Bertrum nodded, leaning his head against Lacie’s, rubbing hir back. Henry had covered his face, Johan laughing at him, but gently, not at him, per say, but more of laughing for him. “Especially those kids down there. God better send them help, they’re gonna need it. A lot.”

Down below, Johan and Henry tried to stop their inane laughter, Henry having said something that had been misinterpretable, again. Henry shoved him lightly, and Johan shoved him back, just a little more roughly, both going back and forth more and more, until Henry pushed Joey so hard that he fell into the machine with an audible thud.

“Are you alright, Jo?” Henry asked, peering into the machine. A dark hand grabbed him by his bowtie, pulling him into the machine as well. Inside, cogs turned slowly. Henry looked around in awe of the work that Joey had poured into the device, and he could see the changes from the original to the current. “God… it’s done and on, isn't it? We did it. Mostly you, but… we did it.”

“Not mostly me, Henry, I would never, ever, not in thousands of eras, would have even been able to make half of this without you by my side,” Johan said with flashing eyes, looking around the machine. The space was tight, but was only needed for maintenance, anyways, but being there with Henry… there was always enough space with Henry around. He was flying on silver wings when Henry was near him, heart fluttering and body light and airy, confidence swelling in his chest. Always with Henry, only with Henry. “Henry.”

“Yes, Johan?” Henry asked, turning towards him, finally tearing his eyes away from the machine. Joey swallowed as he took in sapphire and peridot eyes, those swirling colors sucking his breath away. The box in his pocket felt heavy, and his fingers twitched toward it, but were unable to reach in to pull it out. “What is it? Something the matter?”

“N-no, no,” Joey stuttered, yelling at himself in his mind, cursing his own cowardice. “I just… wanted to tell you I love you, is all.”

“Ah,” Henry smiled, and it lit up Johan’s world, even in the dark space they were in, brighter than all the stars in the night sky. “I love you too, Joey. Sorry about this morning.”

“It’s okay,” Johan answered, taking Henry’s hand. He looked about the machine, seeing that it was complete, tensing and relaxing all at once. “Wanna start this thing up with me?”

“Let’s do it,” Henry grinned, his hand going to rest on the lever. Johan’s joined him. “On three, one, two, three!” 

Both pushed, to prevent the other from pulling. 

Their eyes met, both of them holding in laughter. 

“Nerd,” Henry crooned, to which Joey scoffed, “Ametuer.”

“Let’s do this for real, this time,” Joey instructed, still smiling. “On three. One… two….”

“Three!” Henry shouted, yanking down at the same time as Joey.

A flash of bright green light.

Joey pulled himself off the floor. Small hands were tugging on his arm.

“Jus’ a sec, Aramis,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. 

“I’m not Aramis!”

Joey’s eyes snapped open.

“... Bendy?”


	2. Intravenous

Henry and Joey slumped onto the couch, exhausted.

Johan had forgotten how exhausting it was to be a father, and to add in all the legalities that were added in with the fact that the children were, well, not humans, the whole of the law drained his energy below the baseline.

He was so grateful that Henry was with him to help him get through all of it. Without him….

Well.

He did not want to think about that.

Bertrum, Lacie, Allison, and Susie had all been huge helps as well - not to mention the whole of the studio. Additionally, Dot had offered to babysit for a raise, to which Joey readily agreed - it was just nearing spring, afterall, so even if the government allowed the kids into school, it would still be a long time until classes would start again.

Another thing that twisted Joey’s heart strings were the ages of the children; not quite babies, not quite adolescents, but toddlers. 

Right where he left off with… her.

He was unsure if he was grateful for that or saddened, both sides awkwardly appealing and strangely comforting. To Henry, who had raised Linda, virtually alone (at least he was rather alone until Joey got into the picture), having six little ones running around was only a level up from what he was used to, especially with who little Linda’s best friend was. 

Joey looked over at Henry. His eyes were closed, fingers interlocked and resting over his stomach, his breathing slow and even, yet he was not sleeping. Joey always knew when Henry was asleep.

Johan scooted his way towards him on the couch, curling up to rest his head on his lap. Henry’s hands instantly found their way into his paintbrush hair, running through it over and over.

“What the hell did you do, Joey Drew?” Henry murmured. Johan stiffened, eyes closing tightly, brows arching in thought. He knew this question would come up eventually, and he did not quite know how to face it. “I’m not mad. Really. It’s simply important that I understand.”

“I think I made a mistake in coding,” he mumbled in answer. “I mean, I… I definitely did. B-but it’s not so simple as finding and removing it, ‘cause it’s not a bug, at least not according to the laws of this world. After reprogramming it again, I rewrote the love of death as a love of l-life. And those kids… man, if they aren’t full of life.”

“They’re…” Henry tried to think of words to describe how he was feeling. Incredulous, shocked, happy, afraid, anticipative. He could not figure out how to word it, so he just went with, “Wow.”

“Mm. You’re wow,” Joey smiled against Henry’s leg, kissing his knee. Henry chuckled, scratching behind Joey’s ear. Joey vibrated, a rumble deep in his chest. Henry laughed quietly. “What?”

“I can see where Bo gets that from,” Henry’s voice calmed Johan, his eyes drifting shut. “Scratches and purring. I was wondering where the second one got picked up from.”

“It is not purring!” Johan remarked indignantly, until Henry grinned devilishly, scratching him right where his jaw met his ear, making his eyes flutter shut, the rumble repeating, louder, accompanied by a quiet whimper. “Mm, ah… Henry… Henry… good….”

“More?” Henry asked, grinning. Joey nodded, eyes closed, a smile gracing his lips, bliss and rapture the entirety of his expression. As soon as Henry continued to adorn Joey with soft touches and sweet comments, a cry came from the kids’ shared bedroom. Henry groaned, Joey grumbling a quiet complaint, but getting up anyways. He returned to the living room with Alice curled up in his arms, her cheeks slightly stained with tears from a nightmare, but now her face was one of tranquility. Henry smiled softly, patting her cheek, cleaning up the small streaks of acetone tears. Part of him wondered why it did not burn through her skin, the other not daring to question it, merely glad that it did not. “She’s so cute.”

“Just like her father,” Joey smiled, pressing a kiss to both of their foreheads, and ran his hand over his girl’s curly blonde hair. The halo that his arm went through sent odd tingles up his arm, like he hit his funny bone, but about five minutes later. “She looks so much like you….”

“And Bendy looks like you,” Henry sighed, wrapping his arm around Joey’s shoulders, leaning his head against his arm. “Boris… well, he’s interesting. Not really sure what I was expecting for him. Not that I was expecting any of them at all.”

“Neither was I,” Joey yawned. Alice snuggled against his chest, holding onto his pin, sucking on her wrist. He looked down at her, eyes strangely misted over, face neutral. Henry could sense that something was heading down wrong paths in Johan’s mind, twisting his thoughts, and Henry hugged him best he could from his vantage point. Joey sighed, sinking into the couch, crumbling into something miserable. “Am I a bad dad, Ray? I feel like I’m running around like a headless chicken. Shouldn’t I be better at this already? After Aramis, after Linda?”

“What?! No, not at all,” Henry assured him. “You’re a better dad than I am, hell, that’s one of the reasons Diane and I broke up, because she saw I wasn’t very good at taking care of Linda, always sending her to my parents, not really being around for her, and when she saw how good you were with kids… well, she got jealous. It brought tension into the relationship. Because of how good of a dad you are.”

“So you’re telling me that you lost out on a normal relationship because of me?” Johan asked, dismayed. Henry laughed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “What? It’s true, ain’t it?”

“Not at all, smartypants,” Henry kissed him softly. “We both could see it. She was happy that I was falling in love with you for who you are, Joey. Not because she was upset. She saw that we would be better together, but I constantly denied it, and then I proposed, and now the rest is history. It’s us together now, right? And you’re an amazing father, and I couldn’t ask for anyone else to be a dad with me.”

“Really?” Joey questioned, worriedly chewing on his lip. Henry kissed him again, replying, “Absolutely, you blind fool. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Henry,” Johan mumbled, blushing like a schoolboy. “A-and I mean the same for you. T-to be a dad with you.”

Again, the box under the couch cushions beckoned to him. Would this not be ideal? Would it not be blissfully sweet and romantic? Would it not be wonderful?

Henry’s arm came over his shoulder again, and Joey opened his mouth, yet his courage failed him once more, leaving him to close his mouth slowly, trying to think of what he would even say.

“You’ve been acting weird, lately,” Henry told him, raising an eyebrow. Johan sputtered, his red eyes wide and incredulous. “Almost jumpy.”

“I’m always jumpy.”

“Not this much.”

“That’s very debatable.”

“Oh, hush,” Henry frowned, folding his arms over his chest. Johan missed their warmth immediately, but Alice in his arms prevented him from reaching towards Henry. “There’s something bothering you again, isn't there?”

“Nope.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nada.”

“You can be such a liar sometimes, Joey Drew,” Henry’s frown morphed into a scowl. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing, promise.”

“Real promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

Edgar was an explorer, of sorts. His curiosity lead him into all sorts of situations, not that anyone minded, being that Joey always had an eye on him to prevent  _ too _ much mischief. As well as the fact he was an adorable little bugger. He liked hanging around Shawn and Wally, and the two of them liked his presence, Shawn because he helped in the workshop and Joey could not be mad at him, ever, Wally because it was nice to have someone to chat with.

Just having Edgar alone around already spiced things up, a whole new flair and shine, but with all the other kids as well? It was a brand new ballpark, complete with fifty thousand packed seats, everyone on edge to see what would happen next.

Seeing the toon children around just reminded everyone how absolutely genius Joey was, even if everyone around, including himself, vehemently denied such a notion. He was just a simple fellow with hardly any intellect and even less schooling, ha, he had not even finished high school! But seeing the six living beings he created with nothing but his hands and mind, well, it just was a reminder of that true knowledge he had deep within himself from years of study.

And yet, he was so young…

Henry’s mind wandered as he worked on the panels, Boris near his feet, playing with crayons on the papers that Henry scrapped and gave to him. Judging by the squeals of laughter and musical notes that floated up, Alice and Charlie were in the music department; their favorite location as of yet.

Barley and Bendy liked the heavenly toys department. Mostly for all the attention they got off of “irish street”. Shawn and all his cousins adored the wee demon and the baby pirate, and essentially inserted themselves as the uncles of the inky kids. 

Edgar liked going around everywhere.

Especially the Bendy Land zone. He loved looking at all the mechanical things, all the big rides. He liked to climb up onto them, and explore their facets and gears.

He was an explorative lad. 

Joey was somehow able to keep an eye on all of the kids, keeping track of them with the insane amount of strength needed by a parent. Henry adored him. He peered around the corner to check on Boris, sighing with relief that he was still there. 

“Tough day?” Henry asked with a tease in his tone, finishing up the linework of another panel, sending it off to the junior animators to fix it up. “You look like you’ve been running around all day long. Have you?”

“You could say that,” Johan yawned, collapsing down on his knees, pressing his cheek to Henry’s thigh, looking up at him so sweetly, Henry’s mouth watered. “What’s that look for, sugar?”

“You know damn well what, or rather who, this look is for, honey,” Henry smirked, loving the way Johan’s cheeks flared red with such a small comment. Henry’s firm hand came to rest on the back of Joey’s head, he raising an eyebrow with his cocky smirk expanding as Joey turned even redder. “Come on, it would be nice.”

“For you,” Johan crossly retorted. Henry snorted, rolling his eyes. “Besides, we’re at work, and Boris is literally right here. I will not.”

“So, if we weren’t at work, and away from the kids,” Henry prompted, cheeky grin growing wider while Johan shifted, mouth ajar. “Well?”

“Then, ah, I might… consider it,” Joey gulped. “Maybe.”

“Looks to me as though you’re considering it right now,” Henry’s baiting went on. Johan struggled to come up with a retort. “Are you sure you won’t use your pretty lips for something more entertaining?”

“Entertaining!” Joey scoffed, offended. “Entertaining!”

“Shush, you’re talking too much,” Henry went on, grinning. “You’re still not telling me what’s been bothering you lately. If the next thing out of your mouth isn't a confession as to what it is, then I want those lips on mine. Got it?”

Joey did not say anything, merely rose up to stand above Henry, dusting off his knees. Henry rolled his eyes, about to go back to work, when Joey proceeded to straddle him. Henry’s eyebrows shot up, then his cheeks were caught between two lithe hands, and soft lips pressed to his.

An exclamation of surprise was swallowed up by the mouth over his own, and his own hands came up to keep Johan in place. He could taste cinnamon and sugar on his lips, and those simply sweet flavors sent fireworks through his mind. It was delightful, delicious, dangerous, and oh, so perfect. The way their bodies meshed, the contrast between them.

Others may have thought it strange. Or wrong. Or wicked, or attractive. But Joey and Henry could care less as to what others thought - it was their love. That was all it was for them. And sometimes they showed their affection through kisses, sometimes through touch, more through banter and kind words on Joey’s side, more through smirks and winks on Henry’s.

It was the way they flowed. Rivers of ink and air merging and blending as one, bubbling up into the world in complete and total growth of nuance. It was late night motorcycle rides through New York, it was experimenting on extra organs, it was tipsy giggling through hazy soft kisses.

Henry never would have asked for anything else. This was his family. Joey, Linda, the kids, the studio, work, everything. It was a modge podge swirling mess of wonder. 

Wonder. Wonder, so wondrously wonderful. Both a verb and a noun, a feeling so deep and powerful, it drives all of humanity to find it, to look for it, to feel it and create it. It was wonderful, it is wonderful. It’s right in the name, is it not? It makes you wonder how far someone would go to obtain it, to capture wonder.

Henry found it, right there, arms around a thin, beautiful, wondrous man, Joey being wonder. 

“Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds,” Sammy’s smooth voice had sent Joey launching to the ceiling via the powerful tool known as ‘surprise’. Sammy ignored his mortified expression, turning to address the more dignified Henry instead. “But we need you downstairs to check the music for the new episode. Allison keeps complaining about one thing and Susie about another. Basically we need you two to either agree with or veto them.” 

“Mhm,” Henry got up, picking Boris (who had been oblivious to his parent’s romantic actions) from the floor, tucking him with total ease under his arm and heading down to the music department with Sammy. He turned around, smirking back at Joey, who stared at them, doe eyed and sweet. “Coming?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I am,” Johan nodded, shaking his head to clear it from the yelling that was reverberating in his mind. He tripped over his own feet, Henry snorting and shaking his head as he continued on with Sammy. Johan glanced at the space they once were, and sank into Henry’s chair, breathing hard and heavy. He looked at his hands. One, two, three, four, and five. Same on the other hand. Same on the other hand. Right? Breathe, damnit! You are not under water! You are on land, man, open your eyes and see it right before you! And yet, still, he could not quell the pounding in his chest. His legs felt both like silky soft jelly and quick stabbing pins and needles all at once. What was happening to him? Nothing. Nothing. Everything was fine. So… why did it feel all wrong? He was supposed to do something right now, what was it? His whole body felt numb, twitchy, off kilter. There was only one word to describe how he felt, and his dry, heavy mouth managed to form it. “What?”

He had experienced this before; but before, his mind had matched the state of his body, and in his swapped, uneven, incorrect form, temporally misaligned, his mind was quickly reaching a similar reaction.

Panic can be a lot of things. Such a word is simultaneously a verb, adjective, and noun. And right then, all at once, Joey was all three definitions, yet his mind had not caught up to it yet, though it could be described easily enough to an onlooker (like you).

His body was  _ panicking  _ (the verb), his chest heaved in quick  _ panicked  _ (the adjective) breaths, and his mind was acutely aware of said  _ panic  _ (the noun) overtaking him.

Joey could not see two feet in front of him. Was there anything to see, even? He felt, rather suddenly, light headed, like… like… as though he had lost too much blood.

With a gasp, his head fell back, and he was falling, falling, falling….

He returned to himself with a gasp, gripping the seat of Henry’s chair so tightly his knuckles showed the white of bone beneath nightly dark skin.

Breathing felt like honey on the back of his throat; sticky, sweet, however with that crystalline unscratchable itch on the back of the throat. How long had he been sitting there, in a half present, half reality torn state? As he groggily returned to his senses, he became uncomfortably aware of the fact that it was not only the air that stung like the bees’ produce, but his skin felt clammy, sticky, and his limbs were difficult to maneuver. 

God damnit. 

Damn damnit goddamnit.

Now that the wave of panic had subsided, he was forced to deal with the wreckage, and how he loathed it. He was late downstairs, right? To the music department. He got up on painful jelly legs, feeling like an old hag back in his hometown who had gotten mad at him for going into the library (and exiting unscathed) had jammed her knitting needles straight through his femurs. Both of them. At once. With about forty needles. Sure, at the time it had happened, one seemed more than enough, thank you, but right then, as he stood, with no needles in his legs (he checked) the pure agony of that simple motion shot nausea roiling through his gut. 

He slipped on Boris’ crayons, and yelped as he pitched down into the staircase.

He closed his eyes tight as he waited for his head to bash against some painful and rough surface, but that never happened, instead a rush exiting his lungs as he was caught in soft, muscular arms. 

Joey peeked an eye open, and saw Henry looking at him; with some fondness, some concern, and a bit of teasing. Okay, a lot of concern, now that he could get a proper look at him.

“You don’t look so good, Johan,” he told him, even as he carried him, koala style, down the stairs. Johan only grumbled something, he thinks he mentioned a headache, pressing his forehead against Henry’s shoulder. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“N-no,” Johan mumbled, feeling light and airy. There was a fog misting his mind again already. “Just jittery, is all it is. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Henry questioned, sounding even more concerned. “You started acting strange as soon as, well, as soon as Sammy interrupted us.”

Inky hands reaching, persecuting, angry and dead.

“Joey?”

“Huh?”

“Stay with me.” Henry’s voice had a tone of commandment. He heard someone ask a question, Henry answering. What a weird answer. “He’s fine, just overworked himself as usual.”

Johan tried to lift his head. 

“Mnah,” were the sounds that came out of his mouth. His mouth… he should kiss Henry, right? Yes, that seemed like the right thing. He looked up with glazed eyes to the doctor. The doctor looked so worried. He should kiss the worry away. He pulled himself up slightly, and pressed his lips to Henry’s, a little whisper on his lips. “Love you, Ray. M’sunshine.”

“Johan, snap out of it,” Henry’s hands were warm and solid on his cheeks. He wanted to ask him what he meant. “Joey, can you say where you are?”

“Sure I can, with you,” he easily answered. “In… in… in….”

Where was he?

“The studio, Joey,” Henry’s gorgeous earthlike orbs glinted with compassion and concern as they roamed over his face. “The studio, our studio. Remember?”

He nodded. Yes. He did. And that opened the floodgates of his mind, and his eyes widened as his memory took its course and did its job of remembering. 

“Music department,” Joey whispered, and turned bright red. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry, Henry, I, I didn’t mean ta embarrass you like that, how can I make it up f-for you?”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Henry rocked him in his arms. The three kids that were there looked up at them, then decided that the musicians were more interesting than one of their fathers putting the other to sleep, though Alice did let out a dreamy sigh. “You don’t need to do anything. I think a big of good ol’ PDA would help you a lot, especially with that PTSD of yours.”

Joey felt his nose wrinkle.

“You and your acronyms,” he snorted, not quite contemptuously, but close enough to get the point across. “And I hardly know english, and it makes it all the worse.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing the extent of your spanish lexicon,” Henry smirked, watching Johan practically shrink into himself. “I think there would be some interesting words locked away in that pretty head of yours.”

“Explain what you said first,” Joey demanded.

“I mean that you freak out over a lot of things,” Henry sighs. “And then, you completely shutdown. That’s normal behavior for someone who went through what you did.”

He was not wrong, Joey gulped.

“I’m fine.” He muttered, turning away. Henry turned him to face back, glaring, but with love. “Like hell you are.”

Johan blinked, and then pouted.

“I think that loosening up would help you a lot.” Henry informed him. “More spark, less routine.”

“I like order, Henry,” Johan shuddered as he recalled a world without order, ones and zeros strewn about haplessly, without any true form, no meaning behind any of them. “I need it.”

“You’ve grown dependant on it,” Henry corrects him with a small, sad smile. “Too dependant. You said it just now. You need it. It’s… it’s the opposite of Numerica, isn't it? Truly chaos disguised by order. Numerica was order disguised by chaos. You need to let go, Joey. You hold too tight to the moment. You need to let go, to go with the flow, to overcome each hurdle as it comes. Chaos is a part of our world. You need to let it in, sometimes.”

Joey does not even bother arguing.

Henry is right, he knows it, and Henry knows that he knows.

So he lets the music of their little orchestra sweep over him, and tries to lose himself in the contours of the melody, tries to soak up the unexpectedness and nuance of simply sound from instruments, hoping that his body could keep up.

Joey was confined to his room after that incident. It maddened him; especially with the studio so mouthwateringly, tauntingly, tantalizingly close, he could almost taste  _ work _ .

There was so much to be done, and so little time to do it all.

Henry had confiscated his blueprint paper, only for Johan to summon forth more with the computer only he could touch, so Henry had shackled him to his bed after a minor scuffle, but Johan was so weak from overwork that Henry was easily able to subdue him. It was, was, was completely uncalled for! Frustrating! Annoying! 

Tugging on the restraints, he attempted to get out of bed. At least Henry had put him on his back, or he would be wholly uncomfortable, because there was no way he was getting out of the bindings. He growled in the back of his throat. Dammit, he wanted to work!

But he could not, so he tried to steady his breathing. Tried to close his eyes. Tried to relax.

With a huff, Joey got up as much as he could, reaching over to the side table with his leg, shoving one onto the bed, making himself as comfortable as possible to read. 

“Papi?” Charlie’s voice was soft, peeking in through the door. He made his way to the bed, knocking Johan over to cuddle into his chest. “Why’re you up here?”

“Henry banished me from work,” Johan grumbled, but wrapped his arms around Charlie, at least the best he could. “And why are you up here, little one?”

“Just wanted to check on you,” he smiled, showing off small teeth. Johan smiled back at his little boy, tucking the blanket around both of them. “Why’re you tied down?”

“Your dad thinks I work too much.”

“But you do,” Charlie sounded confused. “Everyone knows that.”

“Thanks, Ch-Charlie,” Johan wryly remarked. His arm was not only sore from the shot he had received that sunday, but also from the position of his body; all twisted out of shape. He was mighty uncomfortable, but ignored it for the sake of his son. “You doing alright?”

“Yeah, I guess,” the boy sighed, pouting over dramatically. “I was singin’ in the recording room but then I had to go ‘cause Miss Campbell was going to record with Miss Pendle. Hey, how come Alice sounds like ‘em put together?”

“Because Alice’s voice is an amalgamation, that is to say, a mixture of both of their voices. You know my synthesizer?”

At the mention of the device, the kleptomaniac child perked up. He had gotten his hands on it once before Johan had spotted him with it, but he let him play with the fun sounds before returning it to its place in the room beside the projector booth. 

“Yep, I know it,” he smiled, his hands making little grabbing motions at the very thought of playing with it again. “What about it?”

“That’s h-how we mashed together their voices to make Alice’s,” Johan explained slowly. Charlie nodded, soaking up every word. “And that’s why we have them record together, so we can just mix it up right there instead of having to, to develop each audio fragment. Make sense?”

“Mhm,” Charlie hummed, patting Johan’s cheeks. “It does.”

Johan smiled, exhausted from merely talking. Goodness, Henry was right, he was overworked. Of course Henry was right. He always was, after all, he was a doctor. Johan felt his eyes grow heavy, but then Charlie spoke again, so he opened an eye to stay attentive.

“Your cheeks are squishier than they look,” he observed. Johan blinked, unsure of how to respond to such a comment. “Is it ‘cause you smile all the time? Dad says smiling makes people soft, on the inside. Does it also make you soft on the outside?”

“I guess for some people, it would,” Johan mused. “Depends if the smile is real or not, I think. Real smiles get deep inside and out, but fake ones… suppose they just stay on the surface.”

Johan’s eyes drifted shut. He felt Charlie give him a kiss on his cheek, and he smiled ever so slightly, so happy for his children. He would give up the world for them.

Joey woke to quiet creaking. He blurrily saw Henry carrying a sleeping Charlie to his room. 

His eyes closed once more.

They opened when Henry returned to the room, and he got up from the bed, still half asleep as he slid over to the shorter man. Dropping to his knees, he put his head in the crook of the doctor’s neck, kissing where he could, small content noises escaping his throat.

“How did you get out of the bindings?” Henry asked him, amazement evident in his tone. Johan hummed in askance, trailing kisses up his jaw to Henry’s ear, inhaling his sweet strawberry and distinct aftershave scent. “You were in them when I took Charlie upstairs.”

“Thought you took ‘em off,” Johan murmured, smiling slightly, squinting as he could not see and because of his even small grin, though it was tinged with the slightest hint of worry. “You sound like you’re disappointed….”

“Only surprised, you were in them tight when I left, then when I came back you sort of… phased out of them,” Henry replied, lifting Johan from his knees and carrying him back to the bed. “And my disappointment would be for nothing, anyways, seeing as you’re all Mr. Nothing Sensual Before Marriage. Would’ve been nice to have… some  _ fun _ .”

“You’re just a kinky bastard. Nosebema,” Johan mumbled, then giggled, and ran a scarred hand through Henry’s hair. It felt so soft, he could simply life evermore running his hands through his golden curls, trailing each of the strawberry pink strands that were entwined in the yellow locks. “And that’s not, uh, entirely true.”

“Do you wanna prove that?” Henry’s words were completely teasing, but they sent a flare of warning lashing through Johan’s mind. Henry saw his balking expression, and he backpedaled quickly. “Looks like you don’t, that’s ok.”

“Thank you,” Joey muttered. Henry rose Johan’s head to see him, saying, “You don’t need to thank me. If you say no, it means no.”

Johan could not figure out anything to respond to that, so settled on his love’s chest, returning to sleep once more. 

When Johan woke up, all he could register was the blinding pain flowing through his whole body, every nerve and joint ablaze with agony. Especially his arms, and of those, particularly his shoulders, meaning he could not get up.

Oh, God, it hurt.

Opening his eyes felt like pure torture.

Even Henry’s sleeping form beside him could do nothing for the drilling and pounding pain throughout his limbs.

He dragged himself out of bed.

Painkillers, painkillers, he needed some.

He managed to stumble into the bathroom, pulling the mirror open that held the medicine cabinet, scanning each item before his eyes landed on the ibuprofen. Bingo.

However, when Johan lifted it from the shelf, he instantly became aware of the lack of sound. Luckily, assuaging his fears a little, there was one of the easing pills left, which he took quickly, without water or food.

Which likely led to the steep swerve down for the day. 

He bit back a groan, backing to the wall and sliding down, tossing the now empty capsule into the trash, waiting for the pain in his body to become something less assaulting.

Stupid muscle loss. It was the cause of all this misery, anyways.

He was very content at seven three, thank you very much, there was no reason to have had to get those shots. It would have been fine for him, absolutely grand, if Henry had never found out about the little fact his muscle loss never did truly end, and then after he was put on those shots, it was the end. Henry found out because he was doped up on morphine, the stuff that he had used to ignore his pains from before making his tongue a slippery eel. Henry was not happy with that either, but never was able to find the painkillers in Johan’s apartment, though kept a close eye on him now, administering his medicines personally, even in the run before, but then, they had run out once the pharmacies shut down, so it was not so bad. Those shots were not expensive, but by God, Johan  _ hated _ them. Yeah, he put on some weight, got a bit of muscle, but did he really need to grow more? Really?

These growth pains just added to the regret.

Though… a wild light came into Johan’s pain drunk eyes. 

Henry never did find that morphine.

  
  


“Mr. Stein?” Henry turned around to see Wally looking at him with worry, twisting his hat around and around in his hands. Henry smiled to comfort him, but Wally would not be calmed. “Well? What is it?”

“It’s Mr. Drew,” Wally fumbled over his words. Henry blinked. He had woken up alone that morning, a cooling cup of coffee by the bed. “He’s actin’... really, really weird today. Bad weird.”

Henry paused, pondering what Wally could mean by that. He had not seen Joey all day, so he tried to piece together some clues. Come to think of it, that coffee should have been the first tip off, being that there were some splashes on the side table, and there was a bit too much sugar, a little less cream… just not like Joey. Joey was meticulous to an almost infuriating degree, but it was a constant, and now that it was ajar… Henry was nervous.

“Go on,” he prompted the janitor, his pause no longer than two seconds. “What kind of… bad weird is it?”

“Giggly. He ain’t happy, that’s a fact. Just finds everything overly amusing,” Wally stopped to think of how to arrange his next words. “Over confident. It’s not like him. And his drawl’s really cuttin’ into his words, like he doesn’t care about them. Which, if I know anything about Mr. Drew, it’s that he puts a lot of thought into his words.”

“I think it might just be exhaustion,” Henry assured him, though the words refracted back at himself. “Poor lad hardly got any sleep as of late, and coupling that with stress, it doesn’t make a pretty picture. I’ll try and get him out of the studio for a bit.”

Unfortunately for Henry, catching ahold of Johan was like trying to grab a two inch fish in a forty square foot tank with only your index finger and thumb, that is to say, nigh impossible. He tried over and over to catch him, only for him to slip away with ease, the click of his shoes ebbing through halls and becoming impossible to discern. He bumped into Grant, who clearly had been around Joey, rattled and off put. 

“I think we may have a ‘code n’,” the accountant confided to Henry. Henry’s face dropped. No. No, no, that’s, that’s impossible! “I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t think it’s numerica in particular. But there are other letters, you know. And,” he glanced around, voice dropping even lower, leaning closer to Henry, “I’m suspecting he’s gotten a hold of them, and has more.”

“Shit,” Henry growled under his breath, turning away. “Do you know where he is?”

“Wait for him in his office,” Grant advised. Henry nodded with a sigh. “Want me to keep watch over the kids?”

“Yeah, though grab Bertrum for help if you need,” Henry’s head nods a second time, and he makes his way to Joey’s office. He was not looking forward to the encounter, not at all. So to find Joey already in his office both made him relieved and frustrated; relieved it would be over faster, frustrated that it would begin all too soon. Johan’s eyes were unfocused, pupils too wide, mouth in an easy grin - but it was unnatural, it did not reach his eyes. Everything about him was twisted out of recognition. Henry did not like it, but replied to Johan’s searching gaze with a, “What did you take?”

“Dunno whatcha talkin’ about, doc,” Joey tossed back, sliding one leg onto the desk, then the other to pull himself to the other side. Overconfident, just like Wally said. “Somethin’ the matter? You look kinda upset. I can make th-that better.”

Johan’s voice had dropped to a purr, low and sensual. Quite the opposite of his norm. 

Only the stutter gave Henry a bit of relief.

“You’re not in your right mind, Johan,” he said, voice powerful. Joey only seemed confused, then anger flashed, and he interrupted him, “Nah, Henry, I feel better than I have in months. ‘Cause you’ve been havin’ me on those shots. It’s not enough. It makes it worse. Makes everything worse. ‘Specially my head. And right now, ohhh,” Johan’s eyes fluttered shut, a shudder running through his painless, senseless body. “I feel so  _ good _ .”

The way Johan moved, the way he spoke, it all was so very wrong.

Henry hated it.

“Stop it. What did you take?” he kept his voice calm, demanding. Joey did not like that, his eyes narrowing, pupils contracting into slits, the red of his irises bright and dangerous. Henry stood his ground. “Answer me.”

“Mmm… morphine,” the word dropped from Joey’s lips, even as he sidled up to Henry, nuzzling his neck with breathy huffs. Henry knew he was exaggerating, and it pained him to no end. He wished Joey would realize that he did not have to force himself into situations he did not truly desire to be in. Henry pushed him back gently. A look of hurt crossed Joey’s face, clearly under the influence of the painkillers in his veins. “Don’t you want me?”

“Not when you’re not yourself,” Henry retorted immediately. Johan’s shoulders slumped down, feeling utterly defeated, for no reason whatsoever, moving away in hurt. “I want you, happy and healthy. That’s what matters right now. You might be in… a fake happiness right now, but we, you and me, and everyone in the studio, we all want you to be really happy. So tell me, please, where the drugs are. I want to help you.”

Johan stumbled his way over to Henry, tripping on his own feet and falling over Henry. Spanish and German mixed in Henry’s ear as he moved back to maneuver him into his arms, sobs and shaky breaths.

“I dunno,” Henry managed to catch, before it was drowned out by weeping, Henry feeling the bones in his chest through his shirt. Oh, dear god, the poor man. Why did he always do these things to himself? “Don’t remember where I was, j-just that I needed ‘em. God, I need ‘em, Henry, c-can’t ya see? I… I….”

He tapered off into more sobbing, Henry rubbing his back in soothing circles.

“It’s okay,” he lilted, Johan only cried harder. “Do you think you’re going to throw up?”

“N-no,” Joey gulped back more sobs. “J-jus’ dizzy.”

“I’m taking you to bed,” Henry sighed, lifting up the far too light chicano. Joey clung to him as though he were the only thing left in the world - and Henry remembered a time that was true, that it was only the two of them, and the intense anger that blazed in him at the man he now held in his arms. How badly they misunderstood each other then. Some things did not change, like the addictions lacing though Joey’s body, the burning need for the pain in his body to end. Joey’s pain never left him, never eased, only changed and evolved and worsened into the blackest forms of agony. Whereas Henry got stronger and smarter, Joey got weaker and wiser. A groan of pain broke from Joey’s throat as the morphine slowly left his system, Henry taking him up, up, up to his apartment. Joey sobbed in his sufferings again as Henry set him on his bed, closing the blinds to hinder his migraine. He sat beside him on the bed, running his hand through his white and blue strands in what he hoped was a soothing gesture, whispering to him, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

He hoped with all his heart that he was not lying.

  
  


“Damn it!” 

Henry woke with a start. Joey was up, pacing his room with a scowl and tear bitten cheeks.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, someone’s angry bright and early,” Henry halfway joked, jumping to his feet with wide eyes, feeling for his glasses before realizing they were on his face. “What’s the matter, honeybee?”

“This!” Joey gestured at himself with rage. “Me! I relapsed, like, like, like!”

He, in his frustration, lost his eloquence, and dissolved into growls of “damn it!” once more.

“It’s completely natural,” Henry tried to calm him, tried to touch his arm, but Joey flinched away. “That’s not the only thing that’s got you riled up, is it?”

“No, no it’s not.” Joey’s eyes narrowed, and he hunched over in the window, looking the full part of a prince who had been offended by a lower diplomat. “I… I….”

A full image of forlornity became Johan. He shifted into an epitome of sadness, of loss. Henry stepped to his side, taking his hand. Joey looked at him in melancholy. 

“We’ve been drafted.”

Henry’s world froze. 

Drafted. 

No. No way. No, he was a doctor in university, they could not just pull him out of his studies like this! It was, it was… it was wrong!

“We?” Henry echoed, his mouth dry. Joey nodded, reaching into his pocket and handing to Henry two letters. Both were addressed to both of them, both sent to their work addresses. “Seems like a few others from the studio, too.”

“Yeah,” Joey sighed. “But…” he swallowed, in fear, and whispered, “They want me in the marines, Henry, on a submarine. I-I can’t do that, I’m… I’m afraid.”

“Shh, shh, it’ll be okay,” Henry promised him, pulling him back to the bed. He glanced at his own draft, noting they wanted him in as a medic. “How about we relax and talk about this later? Some kisses might quell that nervousness in my beautiful Joey.”

“M-maybe,” Joey squeaked, and Henry smiled, pressing kisses to Joey’s cheeks. He pulled Johan onto himself on the bed, Joey hugging him tightly. “I don’t wanna go.”

“I know, honey, I know, I don’t want to either,” Henry whispered, rubbing his back, then glanced at the clock. “But it’s five in the morning, we can get some rest and you’ll feel better later, after a bit of resting up. Speaking of which, how’re you feeling after your little stint yesterday?”

“Better,” Johan mumbled, pressing himself to Henry. “But not good. Kinda like instead of being chewed up, I’m just bein’ held in some teeth of a giant hell hound.”

“Creative,” Henry commented wryly. “There’s my artist in you rearing his head. You think you can draw that for an episode?”

“Only if you think you’ll be able to animate it,” Johan retorted. Henry chuckled, capturing Joey’s lips in a quick kiss, replying. “Fair enough.”

Their conversation dissolved into kisses and yawns, and it was not very long before they both fell asleep once more, but Johan’s dreams were filled with tumult and screams.

Where, when, had he heard them before?

With a start, he woke, a smack of realization hitting him square in the nose. 

Those screams were his own.


	3. Inter/Trans-mission

Late spring, 1934.

That was when it happened.

That was when the kids sprouted into their lives. 

Out of a _machine_.

Six five year old children, made from living ink, all bearing human traits, but not a single one completely passable as such, details derailing disguises or major factors changing expectations. 

God, they loved them, playing with them, teaching them, cuddling them and kissing them, proudly showing them off, with grins and beams, holding hands and standing tall. The machine hummed behind them, almost pridefully. 

Six children of living ink.

So very alive, and so very human (though appearances would say otherwise), and everyone, _everyone_ , in the studio, from Sammy to Norman, adored them to bits and pieces.

Undoubtedly, though, they were Joey and Henry’s children, both in personality and appearance, and Henry made sure everyone knew. He would pull Johan tightly to his side whenever an investor came over, or parents came with their own children for test audiences. Sure, they had gotten a few dirty looks here and there, but Henry always waved it off with a, “We haven’t done anything that you would think” and a wink, making Joey turn bright red as a thumb would curl though his belt loops. 

Henry would tug a bit, catching Joey’s eye, and Joey would alway shake his head no.

The same thing would happen when they were alone.

Henry would wrap his arms around him, kissing his neck and shoulder, nip his ear to catch his eye, and Joey would shake his head.

In bed, while they would cuddle as the kids slept above them, Henry’s lazy touches and kisses would grow more adventurous, but Joey would always put his hand over Henry’s, stopping him, and shake his head, pressing a soft kiss to Henry’s golden lock covered brow. 

Henry would always respect his wishes, but was hoping for a better answer than the all too common, “not now”, “maybe soon”, and “some other time”s he got. 

Especially when Johan was like soft putty under his touch, it was a let down, but at least he could still kiss him positively silly, gasping and giggling.

Henry was mildly annoyed by this, yet he was content with Johan, just the way he was. Actually, he was more than content. He was happy, in a bliss of Joey catering to his every need and desire, just not that particular one. Even though he wanted him, bad, he still accepted that Joey did not.

However, even if he was alright with waiting for Johan to let him know when they could be as close in body as in mind, Henry’s own body and chemicals within it disliked it and were intent on making sure everyone knew that. He grew irritable and tense, even though he did not realize it.

Others however, did notice it.

While watching over some of the kids in Bendy Land, he snapped at a few workers. The kids glanced at him, worried about their dad, wondering why he was so upset lately. Shawn, depositing some plushies into a prize dispenser, glanced over at Lacie, who looked up at him and nodded. The two marched over to Henry, Lacie scooping up Charlie and Boris, passing them to Bertrum to watch over instead of Henry.

“What?” he demanded, raising a brow. They each put a hand onto his shoulders, steering him into a different room for privacy. They gestured him into a chair, and he sat with a scowl, folding his arms. “What’s all this about?”

“This is an intervention,” Lacie informed him. His face went blank, confusion ebbing from his furrowed brow. Shawn cut in, pulling out a chair for Lacie, and she nodded in thanks before sitting hirself. “Ye may be a doctor, Mister Stein, but ye do an awful job when it comes to checkin’ yourself up.”

Henry groaned, leaning his head back with a huff. Leaning forward again, he placed each elbow on a knee, clasping his hands into a ball and resting his chin upon them. “I have no clue what you two are going on about.”

“Your mood?” Lacie suggested, raising an eyebrow. Henry frowned. “How you’ve been snappy and rude to everyone lately? It’s not like you, Henry. We’re concerned for you. Shawn and I have been talking, and we think we know what’s wrong.”

“So,” Shawn grinned, taking a chair for himself, swinging his leg over the back to sit on it backwards. “You haven’t had yer yarn wound in a while, eh? Found yerself wishin’ for a good ol’ green gown t’match yer pretty blue eyes?”

“Excuse me?” Henry sputtered. He stared at him, cheeks coloring, eyes wide and shocked, unbelieving of the words he was hearing. “What the hell?”

“Shawn means that you haven’t has sex for some time, Henry,” Lacie ‘translated’. “And that you’ve been pining, bad.”

“I got the point, I know the lingo of my ‘cousins’,” Henry cleared his throat, shifting his stare to a stain on the floor. “I think I’m fine. Johan and I’s business is none of yours, tha-”

“Someone’s too kinky for the bedroom?” Shawn continued, smirking, making Henry’s eyelid twitch. “Ooh, I hit a nerve, dinnae? Or is it even that someone can’t even _get_ to the bedroom? Mmm. We thought as much, eh Lacie?”

“We’ve both got partners that steer clear of intimacy,” Lacie nodded in agreement. “And, well. We thought maybe Joey does as well, despite the signs that say otherwise.”

Henry’s jaw clenched. His foot tapped. 

“Well?” he grumbled, scowling, unfolding his arms in a ‘take it’ gesture. “No means no. I’m not as much as a bastard as most of you seem to think. And I’m not going to go off and cheat on him.”

“Good, we thought as much,” Lacie smiled. “So, Henry. How long have you and Johan been together properly? Just a few months before the kids, right?”

Henry swallowed, and nodded, remembering that first night with Johan, how perfectly he fit against Johan’s long form, how warm his body was, how sweet his embrace, how loving and gentle his touch and kiss, and how good it was - even without anything beyond soft touches and chaste kisses. Back then, he thought he could spend forever like that; in maidenly bliss, but of course, he was only human, and with time came frustration. 

“And ye haven’t had a lay since then.”

“Er,” Henry coughed into his hand, wondering how easily they were talking about this. About _his_ sex life. He shook out his shoulders, bewildered, but trying to ease himself into the conversation. “It actually was a bit before then. Johan and I never, you know. Had.” He swallowed. “Had sex.”

“Yeesh, talk about a dry spell,” Shawn pursed his lips and whistled. “So your last time was a quickie after takin’ a lass home from the bar, was it?”

“You could say that,” Henry wryly replied, not planning on divulging any details on this aspect of his personal life. 

“We’ve got the solution for you,” Lacie smiled. Shawn nodded energetically. Henry stared in fear. “Communication.”

“Huh?” Henry felt his shoulders relax, and he exhaled. “Oh, thank god. I thought you were going to say something completely different.” 

“Talk to him,” Lacie continued on, patting his hand. “Johan loves you. This is an awkward conversation, sure, but it shouldn’t be. It’s important. Your health and happiness are important.”

“How should I start?” Henry inquired meekly. “He and I barely talk about this kind of thing.”

“That’s a problem, in honesty. Ask him for a private chit chat,” Shawn advised. “Then be frank and honest with ‘im. Don’t beat around the bush. Pound into the bush.”

“Can you not use a euphemism,” Henry inhaled. “For five minutes?”

Shawn smiled, and shrugged. 

“Shawn is right, though,” Lacie backed him. “If you talk around what’s bothering you, you’ll just end up even more frustrated.”

“And instead of seein’ skin, you’ll see the couch,” Shawn smugly said. Henry swallowed in fear of that outcome. “And ye don’t want that, for a fact.”

“So I’m just supposed to go to him and ask to talk about sex?” Henry questioned, tilting his head to get his curls out of his eyes. “Am I understanding that right?”

“Pretty much,” Lacie nodded. “Bert and I had that chat, Shawn and Willy did, too.”

“Ok,” Henry got up, nodding to each of them. “I’ll. I’ll talk with him.”

“Good luck!” Shawn waved. “Basically you gotta talk to yer man Johan about gettin’ a good lay.”

“I FIGURED.” Henry drowned out his words. Shawn knew exactly how to hit someone’s buttons, and Henry knew that first hand. When he finally made it to his workspace, he plopped himself into his chair with a huff, taking off his glasses and rubbing his forehead. “Cheeky irish bastard.”

“Shawn not sh-shutting up again?” Henry’s heart melted at Johan’s voice. He put back on his glasses to see Johan sitting on his lightboard. Had it been anyone else, Henry may have thrown a fit (or a person out of his ‘office’), but he knew Johan was light, and of course, it was Joey. The light from the table cast a shade on his legs, defining the thin muscle beneath grey green pants, dark palms illuminated from below. The lighting of the room made each of his physical aspects stand in stark relief, sending a chill down Henry’s back and pricking goosebumps on his arms. He was gorgeous, and shapely, too, and right in front of Henry, in such a relaxed pose…. Now that Henry was aware of his body’s craving, he could now feel it emerge, a warmth spreading from his sternum the whole of his body, an almost wholly consuming need for the man before him. It was driving, but Henry felt calm, gazing over Joey’s figure. Of course, until Joey snapped a finger under his nose, pulling him out of his trancelike state. “Earth to Henry, come in Henry, you’ve been staring at me for three minutes.”

“Ach! Sorry!” Henry flushed on his ears, and the burn spread inward to his cheeks from his thoughts, and from the conversation he had with the mechanic and designer. He looked up at Johan, into his eyes. “Could we… could we talk in private? It’s nothing bad, but… I guess it’s impo-, I mean, it really is important.”

“Anythin’ for you, darlin’,” Johan responded instantly with complete sincerity. Henry took his hand, taking him to an empty room. Henry leaned against a wall, Joey sat in a chair, hands on his knees. He smiled, and Henry’s heart skipped a beat. “What is it, Ray?”

“This… this might be awkward,” Henry began, steeling himself. Joey nodded to hint for him to continue on with his words. “We haven’t had sex.”

“No, we haven’t,” Johan slowly reiterated, following his speech with care. 

“We’ve been together for quite some time,” Henry added, swallowing. “I know you’ve had… bad experiences with this sort of thing. I respect that you don’t want to have sex. I wouldn’t mind, but some people pointed out that it’s been affecting my interpersonal behavior.”

“I see,” Joey’s fingers were steepled, and he appeared deep in thought. “I think we can come up with a solution to this. But, why didn’t you bring it up before?”

“I just recently found out myself,” Henry confessed. “And being with you, staying in the same bed, the same house… I’ve been going crazy over you.”

Johan’s eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly.

“I’ve stayed over at my house now and then with the kids, with my parents, as you know,” Henry went on, moving closer to Joey. “Even then I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“I…”

“You’re so handsome.” Henry breathed, a hand coming to Johan’s cheek. “So stunning.”

“Henry,” Johan’s hand pressed to Henry’s on his face, and his words were kept from rising by chapped lips pressing against his own.

They stayed like that for a while, Joey’s arms wrapped around Henry’s shoulder’s, Henry’s hands on his waist, their kiss gentle and sweet. 

“What’s your idea, Johan?” Henry murmured, forehead pressed to Joey’s, rubbing small circles with his thumbs on Joey’s hips, breathing slow and even. “I’m willing to do anything you’d like.”

“Well,” Joey kissed a trail up his cheekbone to whisper in his ear, obviously aiming for something with no idea how to strike, nor did he know the target he was going for, but his aim struck true nonetheless, “what if I take care of you? You’d get release, and I’d be c-comfortable.”

“Sounds like a dream,” Henry smiled, and pulled Joey’s lips back to his own, kissing him again. He looked at him hopefully, the blue in his dichromatic eyes glinting, the green quelling, equal parts excited and calm. “Can we try tonight?”

“It’s a date, darlin’,” Johan promised, dazzling Henry with a smile that got his heart racing. “Want me to send the kids to spend the night at Uncle Bertie and Lacie’s?”

“Oh, definitely,” Henry accorded. Johan got up, Henry tugging him down by his tie for a last quick kiss. “I’m going to head back to working. Thanks for having this talk with me.”

“Anything, love,” Johan assured him. “See you tonight. And, if it doesn’t work out, tomorrow is saturday, you know.”

Henry resumed working, until Joey showed up with the kids, all of them equipped with small ink suitcases, even Linda. Henry wondered if Joey made them from the machine, had the kids practice using their hammerspace, or pulled them from his own hammerspace. In any case, he wrapped them all in a hug.

“Have a fun night at Bertrum and Lacie’s,” he instructed them with a wink. “Just don’t tear their place down, alright?”

“We won’t,” Bendy and Edgar chimed. The others merely smiled nervously, glancing at each other. Linda grinned assuringly at her little siblings, and they calmed. Charlie suddenly piped up, tilting his head. “Hey, how come we gotta go to them anyways?”

“Your dad and I want some private time,” Johan replied. “A date type of thing.”

“Is it cause you’re not married yet?” Alice questioned. Henry and Joey looked at each other, both sporting blushes ear to ear. Henry coughed to begin talking, “Well, not really. It’s just good to maintain closeness.”

“Shawn and Willy got married last month,” Linda pointed out, smirking at Henry. For an eight year old, she surely was audacious. “Marina says that they’re even happier now, if that’s even possible. Get married already. I want to be a maid of honor.”

“Okay, off you go,” Johan, his dark skin darker with his flush, gently shoved them all off to go downstairs. “Have a good night, you all.”

“Goodnight!” They all shouted back, rushing down to the arms of their great uncle and ommer. Joey let out a pent breath in relief, shoulders slumping. Henry’s hand found its way to Joey’s elbow, and he tugged him towards himself. Spinning him around, swapping their positions so that he stood and Johan sat in his chair, he cupped his face. Joey looked up at him with those massive doe eyes, his expression empty, but his eyes so very alive. Henry pressed their foreheads together, thumbs running over his cheeks. The glass in their eyewear clinked against the opposing pair. Johan remained still, allowing the other man to touch and maneuver him as he pleased, the only resistance a tautness to his muscles.

“Work’s over, Joey,” Henry whispered to him, smiling softly. “You can relax now.”

While anyone might think that such a simple phrase would do nothing, Henry knew his darling devil. He watched micro muscles drop their tension, felt shoulders ease, lungs calm in their intake of air, eyes of life turning softer, and hands pressed to his own.

“Upstairs?” Johan asked quietly, and Henry could feel his cheeks heating. Henry smiled, more of a smirk, and a glint flashed in his eyes. “What’s that grin for?”

“How about my place?” Henry murmured. Joey melted under his touch, and nodded. Henry smiled. “Let’s go, then.”

Johan drove them on his motorcycle, pulling into the driveway, jumping off and helping Henry down. Henry took his hand, and led him into his house. Since Henry had moved in with Joey, he had converted his house into a pure study room, with an instant coffee maker and miniature library to boot. 

But his bedroom remained so - a bedroom. With fresh sheets, and soft lights. Joey set down their stuff - merely a change of clothes, and Henry kissed his arm. Joey changed into his pajamas while Henry used the restroom. Not a word was spoken between them, not yet.

They turned off the lights. Moonlight streamed through the window, glancing off of the silvery scars streaking Joey’s skin, refracting on Henry’s golden hair. 

“I love you,” they said together, and broke into smiles. Johan knelt to kiss him, and Henry lifted him onto the bed, climbing on after him. Joey broke away from Henry’s lips to question; “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, yes, I’m positive,” Henry insisted, smiling, kissing him again. Joey nodded, and the mood dropped - not badly, but changed; into something deeper, something more serious, but full of love and adoration. “Are you ready, Johan?”

“Yes.” Joey affirmed and looked at him, and put his hand onto his tie, hesitant. Henry’s hand joined his, undoing it alongside him. “A-am I doing this right?”

“Just keep going, you’re doing fine,” Henry assured him. Johan nodded, swallowed, and gently removed Henry’s tie, setting it onto the table. Off came his sweater, his work shirt. Henry’s hand ran through Joey’s hair. Johan leaned forward to kiss Henry, and then lower, on his sternum. The blaze Henry had felt before resurfaced, spreading from where Joey’s lips had touched his chest. Henry breathed slowly, and he savored his name on his tongue. “Johan Icarus.”

***

Henry’s eyes opened slowly.

He felt… restrung. As though each of his muscles had been reset into their original positions, relaxed to the extreme. Soft, the word whispered to him. He felt soft. Velvety, silky. And he smelled clean, too, and felt cleaned, which only added to the destressed feeling in his body.

And the heavenly source of his wonderful feel?

Joey cuddled next to him, knees tucking around his legs, spindly arms curled around his chest and behind his head. Gorgeous, that was what he was. 

Henry turned his head to kiss Joey. It was enough to stir him from his doze, earning a soft smile and quiet hum. 

“I love you,” Henry smiled, kissing his cheeks. Joey shifted, still half asleep, a slight smile gracing his face. Henry kissed every inch of Joey’s skin that he could, hands roaming under his tank top. “Pretty boy. Love you.”

Johan put a hand on Henry’s face, and muttered, “I love you, too, but it’s saturday. Go back to sleep.”

Henry, worn out and complacent, cuddled against Joey and fell back asleep in a few moments. 

Johan, a little less able to drop back into dreams, looked over at the suitcase, envisioning in his mind’s eye the hidden pocket he had seamed to its side. The box within it. Should he get it, and spend the rest of the night on one knee, waiting for Henry to arise? Or should he place it into Henry’s hand, and cup his own around, to keep him from dropping it?

Would it not be sweet? Would it not be lovely? Would it not lead to kisses and touches and declarations of love?

His cowardice returned, and he swallowed nervously, and instead curled himself around Henry, returning to sleep. He could always try some other time. 

“I love you Henry,” he whispered, loving the smile he got. He brushed a hand though golden locks, kissing his forehead. “I love you. I love you. Henry, I love you.” 

It took awhile for him to fall back asleep, but when he did, his dreams were full of light and the sound of gulls.

One sounded mournful, a peal of warning between the hums of happiness.

Jack, Johnny Doe, and Sammy were playing music, loud, bouncy, and with a definite kicking swing. Allison and Susie were singing along to the beat, skatting rather than hollering lyrics. 

Bertrum and Lacie watched from a balcony, gossiping away. Occasionally they would laugh at someone’s comedic fall or drunken slurring speech, most likely Wally’s or Thomas’, both of them heartily debating whether they should swap their lead pipes to copper or steel, while everyone knew that they had already been replaced with copper ages ago (much to Wally’s triumph), but no one bothered to stop their arguing due to the hilarious aspect of it all. 

Willy and Shawn were settled on a couch near Wally and Thomas, chuckling away at their antics. Norman was up by the lighting units, Grant nearby, both talking in hushed tones to be heard under the music. There were not too many people around, not too many at all, just enough to keep a party going, just enough to keep contentedness and happiness peeked. 

And the orchestrator? Where was he?

He was dancing, dancing, dancing and laughing. 

Henry was beside him laughing, laughing, laughing and dancing. 

Boris, Bendy, and Barley were giggling at their dads in their jaunt, the way that Henry dipped Joey with a loud “ha!”

Alice, Edgar, and Charley let out a soft sigh in unison, adoring the simplicity of the dance and the sweetness of expression.

Joey was happy. So very happy, rocking and swaying, holding Henry’s hands tight. 

They danced, and swayed, and laughed, and spun around.

It was so lovely.

Joey smiled at Henry, and Henry grinned back, spinning him into a dip, much to his surprise.

Henry’s gaze flicked to Joey’s lips, and he leaned in, Johan wrapping his arms over his shoulders.

“Up, Ramirez!”

Smacking his head on the top of his bunk, he woke up, swearing up a storm as he rubbed his forehead. His uniform pajamas, too long and wide by his legs, too short by his arms, scratched away at his limbs. The steady sway of the dance still lingering in his dreams was quickly replaced with the rocking of the sea vessel they were on. 

Stumbling over to one of the other groggy shipmates, Johan tapped his shoulder. 

“We underwater now?” he asked, feeling nausea grip him. The other, James, shook his head. “We will be in about an hour. We surfaced for more oxygen.”

“Alright,” Johan mumbled, pulling himself over to the hatch getting outside, breathing in the sweet but salty sea air. The lack of carbon dioxide on the surface made him dizzy. Well, dizzier than he already was. He leaned over the railing, throwing up the contents of his stomach. “H-Hell….”

“Hell indeed, Joey.” James showed up behind him. “You do this pretty much every morning. Whose bright idea was it to put a sea sick man on board?”

“Beats me, Hess,” Johan groaned. James patted him. “Let’s go back below. You’re needed in the radar room, and we’re about to go back down under the waters.”

“Lovely,” Joey grumbled. “Absolutely fantastic.”

The day passed without much incident. Johan just worked, and worked. Tirelessly. 

He was the only black man on the ship, the only latino, and he could _feel_ the discrimination burning in his heart. The second in command of the ship hated him with a total passion, tripping him at every turn, forcing the cleaning on him, the cooking, the chores that should have been rotating, on top of his radar AND communications job. Managing his sea sickness as well, and his longing to go home, and his fear of the ocean?

He was exhausted when he rolled back onto his bunk. A pinging caught his attention.

What was it?

He glanced about, noticing that everyone else was already sleeping. 

Well, hell.

He pushed himself out of bed, and stumbled to the radar room. The device was quietly showing something approaching at high speed.

“Aw, hell!” Johan hissed. He ran to the missile launch, peering out. Sure enough, a turbine was headed straight to them. He loaded their own missile in, and fired. The two torpedoes collided, but Johan did not stick around to watch. He swerved the submarine, and turned up the speed, pulling them out of danger. “That… was close.”

“Not close enough, if you ask me,” the second in command’s voice was in his ear. Johan jolted, grabbing at his heart. “You’re coming with me to the Captain for your acting without orders.”

“B-but,” Johan tried to protest, but two other marines grabbed his arms, hauling him up. “I saved this whole damned submersible! Th-this is-”

“Insubordination,” the second in command smugly cut him off. Johan stared at him, feeling anger blazing up, but it quailed at the sight of the Captain’s quarters looming before him. “We’ll see what punishment you get.”

The captain, an old gentleman with hardy eyes and a firm expression, looked down at Johan as he was tossed down to his knees, skidding a bit.

Johan turned pale as he looked up at the older man.

“What’s the problem here?” he asked.

Instantly, the first mate divulged Johan’s indiscretion, the chicano trembling where he kneeled, unable to back away due to the two other marines. 

“Hey, hey, he’s making it sound way worse than it was,” James piped up, getting out of his own bunk. “Johan saved all our skins. If it wasn’t for him, we’d be sleeping with the fish down under.”

“Mmm.” the captain peered at Johan. “Well. I’ll have a little chit chat with Mister Ramirez right here, and we’ll set things straight. Now, be off.” 

Joey shivered as the door closed behind him, left alone in the rather cramped captain’s quarters with said captain. 

“Johan, Johan,” he shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. “It’s mighty difficult to run this ship with you on it. Not that you don’t do your fair share, you do, but other’s don’t see it that way.”

“Please don’t punish me, sir!” Johan squeaked, still petrified. “I did what I could at the t-time….”

“I know,” the Captain leaned back to puff on his pipe. He offered a cigarette to Joey, who stared at it for but a moment, shaking his head when he broke free of his mind’s temptations. “You don’t smoke?”

“I quit recently,” Johan gulped, worried he offended him. He deflated with relief when the captain nodded in approval. “Good for you, son.”

Johan felt his heart twinge. The captain frowned. 

“Ah, right, I forgot - it says in your file that you were orphaned at seven. Is that correct?”

“Er- well, yessir,” he replied, confused as to what this had to do with anything. “But what-”

“Look here, Mr. Ramirez,” the captain sighed. “You’re a bright young man with a cloudy history. What we know about you is very little. But something the government does know is _who_ you are. That is to say, Joey Drew. Many people know this since that little court stint a while back.”

Johan, still befuddled, swallowed and nodded. 

“Somehow, you know how to work with radar, despite never completing highschool. Somehow, while being a peace activist, you know how to load and fire not only guns, but also missiles. Somehow, in spite of the fact you’re a very simple person, the whole world seems to bend towards your needs. And for some reason, the government wants you.”

“Dead?”

“No, as a captive.”

Silence for a minute.

Johan shifted, vastly uncomfortable. 

“You’re telling me,” he spoke slowly, confusion taking over his mind, lost. “What?”

Suddenly the captain burst into laughter. 

“No, no, I was messing with you,” he chuckled. Johan exhaled slowly, rubbing at his eyes. He was far too tired to deal with this. “I see, sir. May I be excused? I’m… exhausted.”

“Fine, fine, call the others in and I’ll reveal my verdict.”

So Johan bowed in the other four.

The captain examined each of them. 

“Get the mop, First Mate.” 

Said first mate glowed pridefully, ready to shove the articles into Johan’s hands. Johan’s heart sank faster than their u-boat did into the atlantic. 

“And you clean up this mess of a submarine.”

All of the sailors stared at the captain, and Johan felt tears trickling down his cheeks, tears of gratefulness. 

“Johan, go to sleep. That is an order.” The captain continued, ignoring the first mate’s sputtering. He then turned to the next of their party. “James, make sure he complies, get into his bunk if you have to. The rest of you; dismissed.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” the four said in unison, all except the first mate, who seemed determined to argue his case. The rest returned to their bunks.

Johan could not fall asleep.

Ten minutes into trying, he heard a soft, “Johan?” from the bunk beneath him. 

“What, Hessiah?” he mumbled James’ nickname, wishing he were in Henry’s arms. Huntokar knew how badly he missed home. There was a quiet chuckle, and then, James was in his bunk, pushing him to the side. “W-what are you doin’, Hess?”

“Captain’s orders,” he replied smugly, wrapping his muscular arms around Johan’s shoulders, keeping him from shoving him away. But instead of pushing him, Joey found himself melting in his arms, not out of love or lust, but in the exhaustion only salvaged by a kind embrace. Turning to hide his face against James’ chest, he wept - for his home, for his Henry, for his children, for his sea sick mornings, and for his loneliness. James ran his hand through his hair, soothing him with quiet hums. “There there, Joey, soon we’re all going to be off this hell boat.”

Johan wept, and tried to make himself hope for, let alone believe, the words James promised him. 

Something told him that not all of them would leave the boat. 

Poor James. Poor, poor Edward James Misner.

“Have a good day at school, kids!” Henry hugged each of them fiercely, seven hugs all in a row. Pausing by the last in line, he smiled. “You staying over at Marina’s tonight, Linda?”

“Yep,” the eight year old happily replied, hoisting her backpack onto her back, instead of where it had rested on the floor. Her kindergarten siblings looked on in jealousy. “We’re gonna watch a movie and have Gonner’s homemade cookies!”

“Mm mm, snatch one for me, will ya?” Joey winked, and she swatted at his elbow. He pushed himself up from off the floor, and began to walk the kids to school, reminiscing of his own childhood days of the same journey, how one of his steps now made up for five of those in the past. Bendy grabbed his hand, tugging at his bowtie. Johan knelt, and fixed it for him, straightening his vest and dusting his pinstripe pants. “You look great, Benderoo. Don’t worry about it. The kids in your class know you and love you.”

“Yes,” Alice remarked, patting her brother’s shoulder. “They do love us. I can feel it. So keep your chin up!”

Bendy smiled, and Boris grinned, too. Bendy signed a ‘thank you’ to Johan, and skipped off to be on the same cement space as Edgar. Barley and Charlie were on their own square, holding hands and whispering to one another, giggles flecked into whatever conversation they held. Boris latched onto Johan’s hand, and Alice kept glancing at Linda, using her older sister as a role model. Joey felt his heart pang when he saw the school building ahead of them.

His little kids, growing up….

Of course, it had only been a few months - a few hectic, ludacris, laughable, energetic months, full of law and the lack of order, and yet! Kindergarten….

Realizing his vision was blurring, he wiped his eyes with his free hand. 

“Linda!” Marina’s voice was easily discernible from the din of the other students. The curly haired girl, adorned with a big bow on the top of her head, leapt into Linda’s frail appearing arms, the thin girl catching her with ease. Marina hugged her around the shoulders, grinning broadly. The two girls began chattering, and Johan caught a glimpse of Marina’s sister, Gonner, waving and then slipping into the school. Willy looked over at Joey, then at the multitude of kids conglomerated around him, and smirked, winking. Johan’s face heated up. Linda grabbed onto his arm to pull him down to press a kiss to his cheek. “Bye, Papi! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She ran off, but allowed ample time for Alice to catch up. Joey watched them vanish into the school. Edgar, who had run ahead, paused, waiting for Barley and Charlie, and then he nestled himself between them, holding their hands and smiling. The trio glanced back, and each waved, Edgar using one of his extra arms to do so. Joey beamed, waving back at them. Boris found himself surrounded by a group of kids fascinated with him, and he happily chatted with them. Joey felt a small object pressing to his leg, and looked down to see Bendy gripping his pant, looking out to the schoolyard with massive eyes. Johan let out a small snort, and knelt down to Bendy, patting his head. 

‘Want me to walk you in?’ Johan signed. Bendy thought for a moment, and then nodded. Johan gave him his hand, and he walked him into the school, blatantly ignoring the fact that the school would have never allowed a black man within its walls. Bendy led the way, tugging Johan along. Being that Joey was paying attention to his son, rather than where he was walking, he bumped into someone. He snapped up, and saw the same lady he had spoken to regarding the children’s schooling by some newfangled parent teacher whatchamacallit. “Oh! Hello miss. I take it y-you’re the sextuplets’ teacher?” 

“That I am,” she nodded, smiling. She knelt to Bendy, and signed to him a quick message relaying her name, Ms. Lange. Glancing up at Joey, she waved him off. “I’ve got this from here, Mr. Drew.”

He left.

He went back home to the studio, and looked at his apple tree, his lemon tree, his cherry tree. 

The cherry tree was bare.

Putting a hand to it, he felt the life within it.

Joey backed up until his back reached the lemon tree’s bark, and he slid down it, breathing out as his shirt rose by the rough wood, his tank top beneath protecting his skin. 

He looked up, and his eyes filled with tears the same color as the morning sky, the sun warming his cheeks and forehead.

Little by little, they were growing up. How could he take them leaving? How could he be without them? Would they be safe? Would they love him still? Would they resent him?

…

Would they be mad at him for leaving?

The draft letter burned a vision into his retinas, sitting on his desk, he unable to throw it away, unable to look at it, unable to do anything about it. Henry’s was beside his own, and the plea he had written to the government and their reply lay beneath it.

Yes, they were given permission to go in separate shifts, no, one of them could not take the position of both. Even though Joey would have done anything to protect Henry from war (hell, he wished it never broke out), he still bowed his head to the powers that be. 

They would have two months together after Joey would get back from the marines. 

It struck fear deep within him. 

He wanted to be with Henry. He wanted to love Henry. He wanted to remain close to Henry, to hold him and kiss him and be with him, and to propose to him. 

The box resting against his heart, slim, hidden under his suit, seemed to pound in rhythm with his heartbeat. Where would he hide the ring when he would leave? Or would he garner the courage to finally ask him, those four words, so small, but full of meaning?

Joey looked at his shadow, in front of him. It was dark, and swirling.

He stared at it for a long time, until Henry’s shadow covered the sun beaming into his eyes. 

Henry knelt before him, tilting up his chin to capture his lips in a kiss. 

Joey wrapped his arms over his shoulders, sighing.

“What’s on your mind, honeybee?” Henry questioned, stroking his sides. “The kids?”

“Yeah… and the war.”

“They’re not going to be caught up in it, you know.”

“I know, but… I need to leave, yeah?” Johan’s arms slid down. “I’m going to have to go. I don’t want them to hate me for it.”

“They won’t!” Henry snapped back, aghast. “Joey, they won’t hate you at all!”

Johan looked down. Henry picked his face back up.

“Joey. They won’t hate you. We’ve explained this to them, they understand.” Henry told him, firm, but worried. “They know you don’t want to go just as much as none of them want you to go. You… you understand that, right? They’ll be sad that you’re gone, but they know you’ll come home soon enough.”

Joey closed his eyes with a sigh. Henry rubbed his arms to soothe him.

“I hope you’re right,” Joey whispered, and Henry’s mouth covered his own just as the end of his words were leaving his lips. Their kiss instantly deepened, not by passion, but by the fear of their upcoming separation. Henry pinned Joey against the tree, sitting on Joey’s legs for comfort. When he broke away, he yawned, curling against Johan’s chest. Joey looked in front of them as he ran his hands over a broad back and through curly strawberry streaked gold locks.

A confusion swept over him.

His shadow was gone.

How had it been there in the first place if the sun beat so brightly on his face?

Getting off of the ship was like a dream come true - but bittersweet and fuzzy on the edges, blurred by the euphoria of being released from hell, stained by leaving behind Hessiah. He had suffered from a seizure on board the submarine, which led to his early honorable discharge (seventy days of maritime service instead of eighty), and James, by proving himself to be an impartial and true hardy judge had been promoted to second mate. He and Johan celebrated their good luck the night before Johan’s departure with coca cola and salty chips, the sweetness clashing against the saltiness, and perhaps some tears were shed that night, hands entwining and wishing to be able to hold on tighter, but each needed to attend to their own goals and affairs, separate. One on land, one in sea, both content with their lot. 

While taxiing to the lot where he had kept his bike, he thought.

He thought of Henry’s wife, Eleanor.

Why did he think of her?

Picking up his motorcycle, he began the drive home.

Yet he made a stop at a cemetary.

He parked, and walked in through the silent gates. 

Not knowing where the tomb he searched for was, summoning his computer was his next step.

Then locating Eleanor.

To his surprise, none of the Eleanors were married to Henry Stein. 

A sneaking suspicion came into Johan’s mind. 

Typing in a slightly different name came up with the right gravemarker. 

Joey walked to the pinged location, and ran his hand over the words engraved on the marble.

Linda Eleanor Stein

1904-1928

Beloved wife and daughter.

Mother to be.

Taken far too soon.

Missed dearly.

Joey sat before her, paying his respects.

And then he began speaking to her, about her daughter and husband, and her new children. He told her about the studio, and the work they do, and everything he could think about. He hoped that she thought he was interesting. Or at least appreciated his efforts to connect with her.

Now, he thought to himself, it will get weird.

“I want to ask your permission,” Johan nervously continued. “To marry your husband. I love him so much. I love your daughter. I love your family. I promise I’ll be good for them, I promise I will not replace you, but only form my own position within your dynamic. Please consider m-”

A branch from a weeping willow pressed to his lips. The thin reeves ran through his hair, and the branch on his mouth rose his chin upwards. A light embrace from the branches, and the tree thus receded. Joey stood still, processing. 

He smiled.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Joey felt giddy. “Thank you. I should get home now, but I will be sure to come back when I can.”

It almost looked like the willow was waving at him as he drove off.

He waved back.

Shortly, he came into the studio. 

“Hello, Mr. Drew,” Ms. Lampbert nodded, then froze, doing a double take. “Mr. Drew!”

“In the flesh,” Joey bowed. “Now, are you happy or disappointed that I’m back early?”

“Oh, thank god you’re back!” she exclaimed, then flushed. “Not that Mr. Stein doesn’t run this place well. It’s just that you were very missed.”

“Glad to hear that,” Joey smiled. “Now, shall we go off and surprise the rest of the studio?”

It did not take long for word to travel around the studio. Everyone whispered to not tell Mr. Stein that Joey rested on the roof, and everyone greeted him in turn.

Henry eventually noticed everyone vanishing, even if they thought they were being clever by going one at a time, and he followed up, going to the roof.

And was breath taken.

Joey rested with his hair tousled in the wind, the sky seeping from his wispy waves, decked in full uniform. 

Henry’s heart pounded. 

“Joey.”

Johan turned around in surprise, a smile on his face. 

“Henry.”

That smile was everything.

Joey and Henry spent hours upon hours catching up.

They knew that the time they had together would be short lived, just two months, and now this extra ten days blessed upon them. Joey told Henry all about his time on deck, from the seasickness to the delights he had with James. They talked on the roof, the kids coming up to be with them, until the sun set. 

All the children chattered to Joey, all hugging him, gawking at his shiny badges and asking him all sorts of questions. Johan did his best to answer, even if he was growing overwhelmed.

Henry noticed his fatigue, and ushered all the kids to bed. Johan came along, tucking them in, hugging them and kissing them.

He missed them so much, and having them in his arms again was enough to make him weep. 

Once they were all asleep from their crashing energy, Henry tugged Johan out of the sextuplets’ loft, and brought him back up to the roof. 

The two stood side by side, looking out to the land beyond their own, and up at the twinkling stars and winking moon. Henry looked at Johan, sighing with a mixture of joy and relief.

“I missed you,” he murmured, leaning his head on his ribs, and Joey instantly wrapped his arms around him, and they swayed in the cool night air as one body. “You’ve been gone for so long, and unable to send anything… I missed you, so much.”

“I missed you, too,” Joey sighed, sadly, tightening his arms around his beloved. “Every minute. Every millisecond, every breath I took, I missed you. Goodness, I wanted to go home so badly. I wanted to come home to you.” 

Henry stepped forward and turned to face Johan. Joey leaned down to kiss him. 

They stood, swaying in the moonlight, for as long as they could, until the chill of the night made them go inside and huddle under their blankets. Henry took a bottle of strawberry champagne out from under the floorboards, delighting Joey. Their kisses warmed each other, just up until they fell asleep, limbs tangled together, the taste of light alcohol buzzing in their chests, breathing mingling and closeness beyond what they could have ever achieved the last time.

When they woke, their eyes met at the same moment, and they pulled each other close, Johan not caring that he had slept in his military uniform, Henry not worrying about anything at all.

Joey was back, and that was all that mattered to him.

Johan pulled away for air, gasping. Henry traced his cheek with his palm, smiling. 

“Gorgeous,” he crooned. Joey gasped again, but from surprise. “I love you.”

“I l-love you too,” Joey stuttered, blushing. Henry’s hands roamed over his head, then around his back, and when they came to his hips, he tugged him close. “Oh!”

“Oh, you say,” Henry chuckled, smirking. “What about this?”

Joey’s mind turned off the moment Henry’s lips pressed to his own.

***

Joey woke up to the sound of clothes rustling.

He groggily opened his eyes, and could make out the shadowy form of Henry, packing what he planned to take with him to the warfront, which was not much.

However, no matter how little, it still formed a pit in Joey’s gut. The two months they had together slipped by so quickly, like… like a cherry blossom. Far too quickly, not enough time to bask in the period they had together. Tears pinged in Johan’s eyes, and he slid off the bed. 

“D-don’t go,” he whispered. Henry turned to look at him, startled. Joey felt panic grip his heart. His breathing jumped, and he forced away a sob. “Please, stay.”

“Joey, we talked about this,” Henry seemed bewildered by his love’s reaction. He set down the briefcase, going over to his mess of a lover. Johan was partially sitting on the floor, an arm still slung on the bed, glasses askew. Henry righted them for him, and kissed his brow. “I’ll be back sooner than you know it.”

“S-still, don’t!” Johan begged, his breathing going faster, heart pounding. Henry furrowed his brow, wondering at what had possibly changed. “Please, I’ll do anything!”

“Johan,” Henry calmed him with his name, running his hands through his hair. “What’s wrong? We both know I have to go. We wouldn’t want the government on our tails, would we? Honeybee, you know I love you, and I hate to do this too.”

“Then don’t! Don’t go! Please!” Joey gripped his lab coat, scared to let go. “Don’t go, don’t go, don’t leave me, don’t leave-”

“Joey!” Henry kissed him, shutting him up. “Joey. Oh, Joey, I’m so sorry. I have to. You know I do. What’s gotten into you?”

“I-” words failed him. Anxiety built rapidly, storming the walls of his mind. “I don’t- I don’t know. I… I’m scared. I….”

He looked at the drawer, and breathed in, sharply, his chest aching. But he could not wait any longer. He had to. Now might be his last chance. 

Joey stood, confusing Henry even more. He pulled out the box from the secret compartment in the drawer, turned, and knelt on one knee. 

“Will you do me the honor of becoming the father of our children, not only in magic but in bonding?” Joey asked, eyes shining. Henry’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened when Joey opened the box, revealing a dazzling ring, set with turquoise and diamond. “Will you marry me, Henry?”

“Joey I-” it was Henry’s turn to be at a loss for words. He bit his lip. “How long have you been planning on asking?”

“Over a year,” Joey admitted. Henry repeated under his breath, shocked. “I… I wanted to do this at a better time… but… I have to now.”

“Joey, I… I can’t accept this,” Henry closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to see the pain he was inflicting on him. He cupped his hands around Joey’s. “Not because I don’t want to, I really do. But, now isn't good.”

“Promise me you won’t die there,” Joey demanded. “Promise!”

“I promise, I’m a medic after all.” Henry kissed him. The clock chimed. “I have to go.”

Henry left Joey on his knees, still pleading with him to stay. 

They both wept. 

***

Joey eagerly waited for Henry’s letters every week. Sometimes he was surprised with an extra letter. Some letters were less personal, just detailing events. Others Joey read for the studio members, some for just the kids. Some Johan could not read aloud to anyone, with explicit instructions from Henry to read it alone, with ears and cheeks turning red.

Johan tried to make himself a good dad, though he had no idea what that meant, being that he never had a good dad. Or mother, or parent, in general. He asked Bertrum a good deal of questions on the topic, and learned a lot about himself. 

Still, he tried to be the best father he could.

He took the kids to playgrounds, to school, and Henry was right; they did not resent him for leaving, they only were happy that he returned. Joey set up organizations for people whose spouses were affected by the war, made meal packages with Alice and Barley, made pet services with Boris and Edgar, charities with Charlie and Bendy, everything he could.

Anything to get his mind off of the gnawing fear rising in his chest.

It was fine, though. 

He worked late with Sammy, extensively storyboarded, worked so hard that he saw double in the mirror, his eyes haunted but hiding the anxiety building. 

Anything, anything, to ignore the worry.

He loved hearing from Henry, and the small party they threw for Willy’s leaving to the army was spiced with a special letter from Henry, one marking that he would arrange for a red cross passage for the lavender lad. 

Joey caught a peak at Shawn and Willy kissing goodbye, and a flare of envy rose in him. 

Breathing sharply and pinning himself to the wall, he put a hand to his pounding heart. 

Henry just did not want to hurt him more, that was all.

Right?

…

_Right?!_

Joey rushed to his office, grabbing one of Henry’s letters, putting it to his nose and breathing sharply, to take in the musk of his cologne and earthy cleanliness. 

Oh, how badly he missed him.

A tear splattered onto the letter. He sniffed, and let himself cry a little, for Willy’s leaving and Henry’s patriotism, for Shawn going to have to care for Sam, Gonner, and Marina alone (with his cousins, at least), for Susie and Allison’s struggle financially despite Joey’s efforts to help them, Grant and Sori constantly scanning the news for their relatives, and so many other small disasters that tugged at Joey’s heartstrings. 

So many small things led to such big calamities, and he could not ignore that it could turn for the worse, that something could happen and everything would collapse. 

It had happened before, again and again, there was no telling that it would not. 

He wept. 

He felt just a little bit better, after doing so.

A tentative knock made him quickly wipe his face, made him try to look presentable. He kept his mask on hand in case it was an appointment with an investor that he had forgotten about.

“Come in!” he called after a weak effort to get up, his legs failing him with painful pins and needles - not asleep, but deciding to remind him that his physical form was far from perfect. Not that he had any qualms with that. It merely was a bother.

Joey could not see the small being that entered the room, aside from their gloved hand, but in a few minutes, Bendy briskly stepped up to him. Joey promptly picked him up. 

Together, they plotted a new episode. Joey was fascinated by Bendy’s enthusiasm and creativity. 

Soon, the other children came into the room, and all joined into the conversation, even Linda, who was more interested in the toy department than the cartoons. She tossed Edgar in the air as she spoke, eliciting delighted shrieks of laughter from the squeaky spider. 

By chance, one of the times she passed Edgar into space, Joey’s eye caught the time, and then his eyes widened in surprise. 

“Oh, my, it’s late!” he gasped, and scooped up the five children next to him. “Linda, you continue to carry Edgar, please. Bedtime, everyone.”

Despite their groans, they all snuggled into their blankets with smiles, accepting Joey’s kisses goodnight with giggles and pats to his cheeks.

Goodness, he loved those kids. His kids. 

He whispered goodnight and love you, and heard six goodnights and love yous back. He smiled, closing his eyes, flicking off the light. 

“Papi?”

Joey froze. Linda stood in front of him, a steely determination in her eyes. It made his skin crawl, for some reason. Maybe because her eyes were just like Henry’s - not in color, but in aura. The strength of a million spartans. Or three hundred million. Probably the latter.

“Yes, darlin’?” he shook himself out of his shock. “What is it?”

“Can I talk to you about something?” she asked, shifting on her feet, playing with her braid. “Please?”

Joey suddenly was acutely aware that his mouth was hanging open. How old was Linda again? Eight, yeah? Was it a relationship thing? Is she a little young for that? Or was it the other thing that he was dreading to come up in her life (thank god for organ trading week he at least he would be able to explain this to her)? But that should also be later, right? Oh, goodness he was not ready to be a parent like this, was he?

“Papi? You’re zoning out,” she giggled, swatting at his hand. He shook his head, blushing with a small smile. “You’re looking at me like I just grew a second head.”

“Sorry, darlin’ just thought… thought about a scary book I had read once,” he half lied. “Yes, you can talk to me about a-anything. Would you like to go to the living room and have a cup of tea?”

“Alright!” she chirped. Joey went to the kitchen to steel himself, pouring for Linda a herbal mix and for himself black tea. With two bags. He was not planning on sleeping. Not with _him_ filling his dreams. Make it three bags, just to be on the safe side. He handed Linda her cup, and looked beyond her to the photographs on the mantle, at Linda’s namesake. Henry had painted the portrait himself, over their honeymoon, and Linda Eleanor was exceptionally pretty. Long silvery hair, gently turnt lips, deep amber eyes. Those same amber eyes in the Linda before him. His gaze shifted back to his daughter. She leaned toward him, beckoning him to lean as well. “Further!”

Joey accommodated her, and tilted his head to let her speak in his ear. 

“I can do magic with the ink,” she whispered. Joey’s heart froze, then accelerated. “I can make it do what I want.”

“Really now?” Joey pondered, his mind racing to figure out when she acquired this ability. He picked up a small bottle of ink, and uncorked it. He poured some on his hand. “Would you please demonstrate this ability for me?”

She looked at the splotch on his hand, and then, it shifted into a miniature Alice. It waved it’s hand. Joey looked at it. He could sense that it was not sentient. He was silent. This was his own ability that he was witnessing, in his daughter, but she was not of his blood. How? How?

How could she do this?

He looked at her.

She was fiddling with her necklace, looking at it’s small charm of orange and pink tones.

The necklace he gave her. 

The run before.

His jaw dropped.

He instantly closed his mouth.

“Do… do you feel different when you use this… power?” he spoke nonchalantly, sipping his tea. She thought for a moment, and then nodded. “How so?”

“I think I see numbers when I do it,” she replied. He nodded. She looked at him with big eyes. “You can do it too, can’t you?”

“Of course I can,” he smiled. “Where do you think you got the ability from?”

“Hm.” She pondered a moment, then grinned. “It makes sense that I got it from you, but it also doesn’t. I know bio… biologgy.”

“Biology?” Joey suggested. Linda nodded. “Yeah, that.”

“Linda, do you really think magic with ink and numbers really cares about biology?” he questioned her, a humorous tone to make sure she understood he was not upset with her. Who knew Atabulus was not a great parent, either? He pulled his mind out of the past quickly. No need to think about such things right now. Right now it was about Linda. He could get this off his chest some other time. She shook her head. “Exactly. Now, I’ll teach you how to use this ability soon. How about every… wednesday?”

“Yes!” she hooted, victoriously. “Can Marina come?”

“Um. Maybe not.” Joey flinched, remembering the last time Marina had been near one of the ink pipes. Nearly a quarter of the studio burned. Linda nodded anyways. She finished her tea. “All done? Well, then head off to bed, alright sweetheart?”

“Ok, Papi,” she kissed his cheek, hugging him tightly before slipping away to her bedroom. “Goodnight! I love you!”

Joey sat there, holding his cooling tea. He felt tears blaze at his eyes for the second time that day.

Hiccupping sobs shook though his shoulders.

The fragments of his soul that he had poured into her life, they remained. They were still there. She… she had his soul within her. Linda was his daughter in more than mind. She was _his_ daughter, his with Henry’s and Linda Eleanor. Joey got up with trembling knees, and kissed the forehead of the portrait. 

“Thank you, for letting me be a parent of your daughter,” he murmured. “Thank you. Thank you.”

He slipped to his knees in front of the painting, weeping in a strange mix of pride and woe, of loss and gain. His limbs, weak from a lack of sleep, trembled, and no matter how much caffeine he had imbibed, his conscience slipped into darkness as he lay on the floor.

Johan’s limbs were heavy.

He struggled to walk, his cane becoming more and more of a third leg instead of an assistant. 

And since Wally was drafted as well…

_Someone_ has to clean. That someone ended up being Joey. Of course, when the others asked who was doing the twin’s job, he merely said it was taken care of. 

Johan had not been so tired since Aramis. 

Henry’s letters became less frequent.

That was fine. 

It had been a few weeks without the janitors. Two months and a half, precisely.

Johan was snoring away at his desk, sunk low in his seat, paperwork, blueprints, designs, and storyboards scattered before him. 

The door banged open, shocking him out of his sleep, decimating the duplicate. 

“Mista Drew, we’re back!” Joey found himself in a three armed hug. Willy and Wally pulled away, both of them with shorter hair, both grinning, both missing a limb. Wally continued speaking as Johan stared at them with his mouth agape. “We got caught in a mineblast, so we were given the greenlight discharge! How fuckin’ cool is that! We’re outta there!”

Wally was enthusiastically gesturing with his right hand, his left bandaged by his elbow - nothing further. But he seemed just as happy as before. Willy leaned on crutches, his right leg bandaged on the knee. Joey no longer heard the words that Wally was blabbering. An idea came into mind, and he looked at the blueprints on his desk.

“I take it you two would like your, er, a-appendages replaced,” he smoothly spoke over Wally. They looked at each other, then at him with wide eyes, surprised at such an offer. “You see, I’m working on, hm, enhancements for myself. As you know my b-body isn't quite in good physical condition. Now, if you’d like to test purely mechanical versions….”

“Hold up, Mr. Drew,” Willy, ever the cautious one, put a hand over his twin’s mouth. “What’s the catch? There’s gotta be a catch here. Even hospitals ain’t got this tech.”

“The catch is that I want you both to be able to work happily, healthily, and exist without issues,” Joey rose an eyebrow, and smiled. “Of course, I won’t be the only one working on these limbs. Lacie is the one who’s most enthusiastic-c. Then, surprisingly, Shawn.”

Willy’s eyes went big.

“Yeah, why not,” he agreed instantly. Joey held back a grin. Wally swatted at him, yet Willy grabbed his hand. They silently communicated between each other, and then nodded. “Wally’s gonna do it, too. We’re gonna be able to opt out, right?”

“Yes, the limbs will not be permanently attached,” Joey assured him. Willy exhaled in relief. Wally nudged him. Joey leaned on his elbows. “Anything else you two would like to tell me?”

“Henry sent this,” Wally quietly responded, giving Joey a package. Johan blinked, taking it slowly. “He was happy to see us, but not… uh… in the state we were in. Still. It was good to see a familiar face, ‘specially… especially after….”

Wally went quiet, rubbing where his arm once continued. Willy hugged him.

“After gettin’ hit by that blast,” Willy continued for him. Wally nodded. 

“Well, then, you two should go and get some rest,” Joey shuffled through some papers, setting aside the parcel. “You may inform Mr.s Flynn, Connor, and Lawrence that they have the day off.”

When they left, Joey tried to ignore the package.

He picked it up not two minutes later.

He slowly opened it.

Johan came face to face with himself. 

A portrait. A letter beside it. 

_Johan Icarus,_

_I miss you. More than you can possibly imagine. I’ve worked on this for months, and when it was done, I had no idea how to get it to you. I would try to figure out different solutions, but until I saw the twins chatting away on the cots… I had no idea if I’d ever get the chance to give it to you. God, I miss you. The front has been quiet. Each night I had no patients, I would paint this. Not very often, mind you. Sorry if the lighting is weird. See you soon._

_I love you._

_Henry Stein_

Joey’s heart went aflutter. No matter how angry he was at Henry for leaving him, he always swooned whenever he would receive a letter from his darling doctor. 

The portrait of himself was set beside the one of Linda Eleanor. Side by side, Johan could see some similarities between them. There was something… extraordinarily soft about their eyes. 

Perhaps that was just the way Henry painted. 

He returned to work with renewed vigor.

The next week, the twins tested their new limbs. Minor adjustments were continuously made, and within the month, they were in tip top shape.

Joey became much more relaxed, now that he no longer had to clean the whole of the studio alone. Or at all, in that case. He got regular letters from James, and still some here and there from Henry. He supposed there could only be so much one could write about war. Linda’s lessons in learning how to control her newfound ability were coming along marvelously. Everything was up, shares, productivity, happiness, though everyone missed Henry. 

Letters became less frequent.

It almost became like they stopped entirely, but then right when Joey’s hope was about to flicker, another letter would appear. 

Another letter. 

Johan picked it up, and read it.

He put it down.

He blinked.

A small thing stuck out of the envelope. 

He picked it up. 

He picked up the letter. He read the letter. Over and over. 

He breathed in, getting up.

This was for the whole of the studio as well. 

Oh, this was for them all.

Joey walked from his office with leaden legs. 

When people saw him, they were about to call to him, but his silence made them follow him instead. Word spread fast. 

Everyone came to the pub room, even Jack, even Allison.

Everyone sat themselves in easy positions, looking at Joey. 

Something was off about him. Though he stood tall, though his eyes were as bright as ever, though his brow was arched in it’s selfsame curve of concern, there was something off about Joey’s very permeations. 

Something was very… off.

“Ladies, gentlemen, esteemed employees and beloved family,” Johan started to speak. A hush fell over the whole of the people. His eyes were firmly trailing on those in front of him, a bright film blocking his vision. Droplets of salty water dripped from the corners of his eyes, slowly, imperceptibly. “It is with great… no, not merely great sorrow. Beyond that. With a heart heavier than the pits of hell, with a mind devoid of naught but grief and shock, limbs held by weakening resolve, lungs on verge of collapse, that I stand before you.”

Inhaling sharply, he took in burning air.

“With lips aching with pain,” his breathing and words grew erratic, rough, terse. “It is my anguish to inform you all, all you wonderful beings, that… that Henry Stein has been killed in the line of duty.”

The silence that had grown went ice cold.

Joey, pulling a brave face, a tight smile failing to hide his torment, looked out to all their shocked faces, examining each with a shaking caution.

Yet, as his left hand clenched and released over the purple heart that rested there, as the letter in his right became more crumpled as his hand crushed it, he fell to his knees.

A wail such as his was never heard before, a wordless howl of anguish and loss.

The comforting hands and words of his workers did nothing to numb the pain.

He was gone.

Henry was gone.

He broke his promise, he broke Joey’s heart.

Henry left him in a heartbeat, and now, Joey’s broken heart was the only one left to beat.


	4. Proverbs

The studio was quieter than usual without Henry. The lights seemed dimmer, the air a bit harder to breathe.

Johan was exhausted. What else would he be? His denial of Henry’s death was brief, far too brief, immediately brought into acceptance when Alice’s deep color desaturated, making him admit that yes, Henry’s soul had left their hands. For it was with his partner’s soul that they created their children, and each of their souls was used more or less depending on how intimately connected they were to the child. Alice was Henry’s design, and thus she was the closest to him. The illness that came over her caused her to be feeble and shaky. It terrified Joey.

He just lost Henry. He could not lose his children. Their loss would not only tear the very soul from him, but it would also release the pathogenink. The end of the world would happen again. 

And again.

And again.

For Henry was gone. There would be no real resets. He would go back to the point he lost Henry, over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, until his mind would collapse inwards from the loss of his family and _his_ impossibly repeated destruction of the whole world.

He was going insane from the stress already. 

If he was not before.

He missed Henry.

He wished he begged him to stay more. He wished that he did anything to make him stay. Anything at all, anything that Henry would want him to do, he would. Johan missed Henry. Missed him so much.

He hiccuped, in pain.

Breathe, Johan. 

Do not let them worry.

Joey replaced the rag on Alice’s forehead, the ink soaking it staining his fingers. Her skin greedily absorbed the liquid darkness, returning a rosy tint to her cheeks. 

His shadow snaked around him in the dim room, twisting his perception, yanking at his throat to try and make him cry out, in pain or jubilation, but he swallowed the urge. Joey randomly felt hands on his sides, never seeing anyone. He doubted that there was anyone. Missing Henry made the ghosts of his hugs wrap about him. 

‘Thank goodness for the ink machine’, Joey thought to himself grimly. He smiled, kissing Alice’s hand, and rubbed her stomach. “Feeling any better, d-dear?”

“A little bit,” Alice admitted in a hopeful tone. “I think I can get up again tomorrow.”

“Let’s hope for that,” Joey nodded, patting her hand. He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting with the Jays. And it’s your bedtime.”

“Aw man,” she pouted, but settled into the sheets of Johan’s bed. Since she fell sick, he had quarantined her into his own room, and he slept on the couch. He had no idea what problem Henry had with the couch, seeing as he slept on it just fine, even though it was around a foot and a half too short. Joey tucked the blanket around her. “I love you, Papi.”

“I love y-you, too, darlin’,” Joey smoothed her hair . “I’m gonna put your siblings to bed now. Sleep well, Alice.”

She was already fast asleep when Johan slipped from the room, her soft cartoonish snores filling the section of the home. Joey went over to the other children, and set them all to bed. Linda once more nearly gave him a heart attack, standing silently outside the door of the sextuplet’s room. 

“Oh, Linda,” Joey tried not to let his voice crack (tried being the operative term). “What’s up?”

She opened her mouth to talk, then shook her head.

Johan frowned.

“Well,” he said softly, “If you need anything, ever, just let me know, ok little Linda?”

“Ok, Papi,” she sighed, and a flutter of green appeared on her shoulder. Gracehopper looked at Johan, and then she and Linda vanished into the girl’s room.

Joey shivered.

“Hey,” Jack nodded to Johnny Doe, who was in deep sign conversation with Jameson, and handed each of them a coffee. They were convening to discuss the music of the time, and normally Johan joined them (hence why they often called themselves the ‘jays’), but Joey had excused himself, saying he may join later, but was uncertain if he could. He asked Jack to tell the others for him, and so he did so, and now that his hands were free, he was able to sign. ‘Joey might be late, but he also might not come. He said we can talk without him.’

‘Poor man,’ Jameson shook his head. ‘And so close to the end of Henry’s time at war.’

‘It is a shame, is it not?’ Johnny agreed. He leaned close to the others, signifying he had gossip on hand to tell them. ‘However, I have heard a rumor that Henry ran away to the war.’

‘Whatever for?’ Jameson’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. ‘By heavens, why?’

‘What I heard from Ms. Pendle was that she found an interesting recording half wrecked in Mr. Stein’s workspace,’ Johnny informed them, leaning back. ‘Henry was saying something about being excited to go.’

‘Hell,’ Jack mouthed, shocked, and he copied Johnny’s body language. ‘I overheard Sammy mention something about restoring a tape with Allison. Do you think this is it?’

‘Could be,’ Jameson mused. ‘Yet, if so, then is it possible that they will share it with Mr. Drew?’

“Share what with me?” the three of them swiveled around to face their boss. Joey’s red eyes were even redder from his constant flow of tears. His voice was hoarse, but he still smiled. He sat, converting to sign. ‘Of course, no need to spoil any secrets of yours.’

Their conversation melted into talking about the music of their times. 

They laughed and chatted and enjoyed each other’s company, and the conversation turned to bars and drinking and prohibition, which was going on much longer than anyone liked.

Johan grinned, and pulled a bottle out of the floorboards, much to the applause and pleasure of the other three.

They all clinked their mugs (drained of coffee, filled with liquor), and drank to happiness and futures, to joy and family.

The moment Johan swallowed, he knew something was wrong. 

He pressed his hand to his stomach, and heard Jack call, “Oi, Johan, are you alright?”

His head spun, and his gut churned.

He ran to the trash can and threw up the alcohol he had so recently imbibed, and he wondered why the hell this was happening. He felt fine.

“What the hell?” he coughed, Jameson patting his back and looking at him with concern. Johan made a face. “Johnny, could you grab me my m-mug? I wanna test something. None of y’all feel like vomiting after drinking?”

‘No’, Jameson signed, and glanced at Jack, who shook his head. ‘What about you, Johnny?”

“No,” Johnny answered, and handed Johan his cup. Joey’s eyes watered at the very smell of the drink, and his throat tensed. He took a sip and tried not to gag. “Are you sure you should be having that?”

Johan took another swig, waited a moment, then turned back to the trash to throw up again.

“I think you shouldn’t have any more of that,” Jack chuckled, taking away the glass, but with no small measure of worry. “Maybe you’re allergic?”

“I wasn’t before,” Johan wrinkled his nose. “I… I think that I just… c-can’t stand it anymore.”

The others went quiet. 

“Is there s-something wrong with me?” Joey asked meekly, his mind aflutter with all that could be wrong with him. “I s-swear I feel fine.”

“Maybe you just,” Johnny shrugged. “Can’t drink anymore. It happened to the old caretaker at the orphanage. Just one day she wasn’t able to have alcohol anymore.”

‘That is possible’, Jameson nodded. Joey sighed, getting up. ‘Would you like a cocoa instead?’

Johan pursed his lips.

‘Ah. Right. Dairy’. Jameson sheepishly smiled. ‘How about a nice tea? Chamomile?’

Johan’s mouth watered at the thought, and he nodded. The four friends resettled on the couch once Joey got his drink.

They soon all fell asleep, one leaning on the other. Joey was grateful for the warmth and presence of his friends, his family. They all were so dear to him. 

In his dreams, he wept, crying over the loss of them, the past loss, their passing into the ink.

Jack woke him up, shaking him. Jameson and Johnny stood behind Jack, and they all wrapped him into a hug. He felt tears fracture his eyes, and he smiled, wide, happy, glad to be so close to those that cared for him.

“I love you all, so much,” he whispered, shaking with his small sobs. “I love you, Jack, I love you, Johnny, I love you, Jameson, I love you, I love you….”

“We love you too, Joey,” Johnny patted his back. “For everything.”

That made Joey cry harder, and hug them tighter. Jack carried the other couch over from the other side of the room, to make their ‘bed’ a bit bigger, and Jameson boiled them a fresh pot of tea. They stayed up for just a mite longer, then reflumped onto the couch, cuddling and hugging and giggling, making jokes and commenting on the love they shared for one another. Jack was clearly a bit drunk, but it was all the more endearing to hear him hiccup his adoration (“Johnny, your hands are magical, I tell you, magical”, “Jameson all the dolls you make are so soft and cute like you”, “Joey, you’re so damn sweet”, and other things of the sort).

While Joey drifted off, he saw Jameson and Johnny share a small kiss, and it made him grin and coo, calling them adorable as they blushed and waved off his compliments. At Jack’s and Joey’s urging, they kissed again, grinning. Their relationship was no secret, though they were quieter than some others (ie., Sammy, Thomas and Wally).

Then Jameson dared Johnny to kiss Joey, causing the chicano to blush when the vitiligo man smirked at him and raised an eyebrow.

‘Only if you kiss Jack’! Johnny dared back. Jameson grinned, and grabbed Jack by his sideburns, pulling him to his lips. Joey and Johnny called, “OHH!” 

Johnny, not to be undone, kissed Jack as well, that is, as soon as Jameson backed off. Their kiss, honestly, looked absolutely ridiculous, a deer kissing a bear.

Jack, loving the attention, was released with a grin on his face and a star struck look in his eyes. 

“Not bad, Fain,” Johnny smiled, blushing heavily, looking very pretty with the way it flowed into his skin. Jack retorted, “Not bad yourself, Doe.”

Jameson kissed Johnny’s cheek again, and then caught Johan’s stare, red eyes wide, their maroon bleeding into his own cheeks, the tips of his ears darkening. Jameson pointed it out to the others silently, and they shared a smirk.

Joey did not realize they all were looking at him with grins until they were right next to him, and he only managed to say, “Uh” before his lips were silenced with another’s. 

Jack’s mouth was on his first, a gasp slipping from him before he melted. They came apart silently, Jack chuckling and Jameson swooping in to kiss their boss next. Jameson’s beard mingled with his own, kisses peppered to his cheeks as they all kissed him, he tasting the alcohol on their lips, sending him in a dizzy haze of his own, kissing back earnestly. Jameson was sweet and chaste, unlike his rather promiscuous cousin. 

Jack pulled him back and kissed him again, Jameson kissing his cheek and Johnny kissing his ear, whispering how much he liked them _right into them oh god_ , making him shiver and smile and blush, even as Jack’s kiss sent his mind into spinning field of fringed pinks and blue anemones, just that perfect balance of absolutely proper and right damn scandalous. He was gasping and flustered when Jameson caught his lips once more, Jack going down for his neck, pressing kisses and small nipping bites, and Johnny his hairline, so soft and sweet, Johan thought he may faint. Jameson’s hands were decorous and modest, but the way they played with his tie just made Joey shudder with ardor. 

“Come on, let me,” Johnny smiled, and Jameson pulled away. Joey’s eyes met Johnny’s, his breath catching in his throat. A spark of fear blossomed, but it was brushed away just as Johnny brushed back a strand of Johan’s blue and white hair. He whispered, “I’m not him. But are you okay with me kissing you?”

“Y-yes,” Johan breathed, his body quavering in anticipation. “Please, Johnny Doe.”

Johnny’s kiss was… heavenly. His lips were small, gentle, but _oh!_ he knew what he was doing with his hands, Johan all the way in seventh heaven. Not to mention the administrations of Jack and Jameson, Joey knew he would have to cover up the marks on his neck somehow tomorrow, and his own hand curled around Jameson’s. His tie was undone, and his shoulders were receiving attention now, too, his scars kissed up and cooed over. His mind short circuited, and he moaned his thanks, Johnny smiling against his lips, and deepening the kiss, as Johan found it nearly impossible to close his mouth, panting with the warmth in his skin. He was in nirvana, surrounded by love and kisses and soft touches. 

“I love you, Johnny,” he gasped when Johnny pulled away. He pulled Jack back to his mouth, kissing him with another, “I love you, Jack,” and his hand ran up Jameson’s arm to the side of his neck, kissing him once more, murmuring, “I love you, Jameson.”

“We love you, Joey,” Jack told him, smiling. Jameson nodded, signing Johan’s name with a heart, sending said man’s physical heart aflutter. Johnny kissed him again, and said, “We love you, Johan Ramirez. You adorable, sweet, lovable man.”

He grinned, the smile he disliked so much, thoughts purged with more kisses, sweet kisses. 

They cuddled and kissed until they fell asleep, Joey feeling safe and loved.

* * *

Johan did not accept the recorder that Alison and Sammy handed to him. Looking at the label instantly turned him away.

“He didn’t give this to m-me,” he protested as they tried to give him the tape. “Henry wouldn’t want me to hear th-this, if he did destroy it.”

“He’s damned us all to a fate worse than death,” Sammy cooly remarked, coughing into his handkerchief, making Joey swallow roughly, painfully, feeling the saliva trickle down his gullet. It made him swallow once more, a scarred hand slowly wrapping around the proffered tape recorder. “We can let you listen to it on your own if you’d like.”

“I… yes. Thank you,” Joey whispered, looking at the ‘Henry’ so carefully written on the tape. Alison gave him a hug as he slumped into his office chair. She waved for Sammy to leave, sitting on the edge of the desk. Joey looked up at her, red eyes tired. Memoranda of Henry lay scattered on the desk, the man clearly conflicted and upset, not in denial, or bargaining, or rage, nor acceptance, none of the stages that most people phased through in grief. No, he was in ‘why’, in questioning, in loss and confusion. His voice, normally so soft, now so hoarse, startled her, and it made her… sad. “What is it, Alison?”

“Well, Mr. Drew,” she began, her tense smile falling after a moment. Her brow arched in pain, sympathy, a hand reaching to touch his shoulder. He dropped his head, shaking, his own hand pressing over hers, desperate for the contact. She hugged him, his forehead pressing to her chest. “Oh, Joey. I’m so sorry. All of us want to help you, but none of us know what to do. Mr. Cohen has an idea, but… it’s very risky. We will do our best to do anything we can to fix this.”

“If we don’t get the kids safe,” Joey hiccuped, shakes turning stronger. “Th-then, then….”

“Shh. We will. Everyone will be okay, okay?” Alison soothed him, rubbing his back up and down. “We’re all here for you. We all love you. You’re not only our employer, but you’re also our leader, and our friend. You’re wonderful, Joey. We’re going to be able to get through this.”

“I hope so,” Joey whispered, his eyes closed, throbbing from being forced to stay awake, else night terrors and anxiety would eat him from the inside out. He felt like a ticking time bomb, the hour of detonation creeping ever closer every second. “If… Alison, if hell b-breaks loose….”

“It won’t,” she stated, picking up his head to look at her. “Joey. I know you. You won’t let it happen again, not as long as you have a hand on the situation. Now, I’ll go get you a tea. Jasmine. You listen to that recording while I’m out. I’m very interested in all the gossip.”

Joey smiled with fatigue as she slipped out, her pink skirt flapping behind her. The audio seemed to look at him, and he pushed it to the edge of the desk to avoid its glare. He picked up Henry’s resume again. 

Gracehopper had picked up for Johan all sorts of documents on Henry to read, many bland and simple, but his moth’s urgency to go over them compelled him to pick them up, and so he did. Among them was Henry’s resume, and, as stated before, is the one that Johan desired to read again - this was not the first time he looked though, meticulously studied the words on the pages. 

As for the resume, the man did not need to submit it, no, not at all, he simply had, and told Johan that he just wanted to keep it formal. Joey read it so many times. However, with the fear, no, _dread_ emminating from that simple recorder, he decided that reading it one more time could not hurt anyone or anything, aside from his own tortured head from bashing his head against an intellectual wall. 

Most things were normal. 

Doctor in training, medical school with a minor in art, messed with animation in school. 

Details? Not much.

Father of one, widower, divorcé, in that order. 

Decided on trauma and terminal illness specialty after death of first wife, swapping from general practitioner. 

Spoke french and some gaelic. 

Artistic skills?

Cartoony, flowing style. Expert. Confident. Good with backgrounds. Can do realistic portraits. Prefers pencil to pen, but can use both. Needs reference. 

So little.

Joey knew so little about him when they first met. 

And he was not a divorcé then, either, he still was just dating Diane. 

He was dating her because he needed help.

Medical bills and medical school, they had run him dry. Not to mention caring for his daughter, and funeral expenses trail after a person like a skeletal hand from the grave gripping an ankle. 

Joey knew he needed help, needed a job, and he gave it to him.

Not only that, he gave him the world. He paid off the funeral hounds, he cared for Linda, he encouraged Henry’s learning.

Looking at it, he removed from him responsibility. 

Joey gave Henry a carefree life, all the while the tall man stretched as far as he could to encompass the scattered responsibilities thrown to the wind. 

The thought knocked the wind out of Johan.

It felt like a punch to the gut, the tea Alison brough him surging back up along his throat, making him swallow again.

Stars swam in his vision, as he groaned and slid down further in his chair, legs crumpled on the floor and an arm covering his eyes, hands shaking even as he held the resume.

He _loved_ Henry, and was certain the man loved him too, but the moment that he was offered responsibility, he shirked away, and it planted the growingly horrific seed of doubt. The studio, becoming the art director, more hours at work, more hours at home, more time with Joey, more time with Linda, more time with Diane, all things that could have been accomplished but he avoided for so many reasons. The ink machine, the kids, their everything.

Everything that Joey could hold onto, Henry let fall. Did he care that Joey might trip? Well, he was prepared for that, soothing him with kisses and assurances, loving him for the avoidance he so blatantly represented. 

Joey began hyperventilating.

He did not notice at first. 

What he noticed first was the way his hands trembled and shook, the way his stomach clenched, the way his arms and legs ached, the way he wanted to scream and hit and lash out and fight and fight and hurt and burn and blaze and fall into the ocean and dive into the depths and drag Henry out and make him bear the responsibilities he abandoned, the responsibilites he left on Joey and the studio, the terror that he cascaded onto their shoulders, latching on and dragging down like lead in a sea of ink. 

His lungs burned with the force of his breathing, his heart throbbing and thudding in protest, the pulse thundering in his ears and forcing his teeth to grit, and he bit through his lip, a surge of red blood blotching his mouth.

Johan gasped, trying to even his breathing, curling up in the chair to avoid the pain of his body. 

He shook, and closed his eyes tightly to avoid the hot angry tears, simmering like magma. Breathing had to go back to normal. He had to calm down. Had to let his anger go.

He sobbed as a breath he held in shrieked for air, rushing into his tremoring body.

Sammy was right.

Henry had damned them all, to a fate worse than death.

He had abandoned them and betrayed the world to a pathogen Joey was helpless to stop. 

The feeling Joey felt burning in his chest, shaking through his limbs, rattling his brain and gritting his teeth?

Rage. 

His shuddering breaths to avoid the anguish of anger did nothing against the crushing and shattering wave of rage. He forced himself up his chair, sitting upright and grabbing the recorder where it sat on his desk.

If Henry would dump and destroy his responsibilities, his testimonies, then Joey would do what he always did for the man. 

He would pick them up.

After a moment of thought, not hesitation, thought to remain calm to listen to the audio, he waited for his pulse to ebb, and then, he pressed play. There was the regular fuzz while the person behind the device waited for it to be ready to record, and then a sigh, very known to Joey.

_Well, it’s a few weeks before Joey has to go._

Johan swallowed bile and the way his stomach did flip flops at the sound of the man’s baritone. 

_I can’t be without him, so I decided to do it now. So that it can see his behaviour, and learn how to imitate it. I can’t be without him._

What the hell was he talking about?

_It’s not the same as him. Obviously. But it can learn. It will. There’s subtle differences, even so. The way it holds itself isn't the same as him. But it’s learning. It watches him from shadows, from corners, from the pipes, and before long it will be like him._

No. No no. Joey’s eyes were wide as he thought about what the man was talking about, trying to piece together the shattered glass. Henry would not do that. He would not.

_I can’t be without him. If I have to make a replacement, I will. I have._

Oh, no, please, Henry, what have you done?

_At least it gives the ink machine something else to do._

Joey held his breath and counted to seven.

_I can’t be without him_.

Letting out his breath as the tape turned off, he breathed, “Hell no.”

Johan pulled out a manilla file, the one where Thomas kept the ink machine usage records, ink stained and dog eared. He had not used the machine since the children, and he had not done enough trial and error to learn how much ink it took to create one being. Still, the records would show, if the dread feeling resting above his stomach meant anything. 

That one saturday. The day Henry did not have to go to work, but insisted anyways. He had sent Joey out of the studio, too, told him to take the kids to a park. Even Thomas had been concerned with the amount of ink that had been used. Henry claimed a pipe burst, but there was no evidence of it, and he waved it off with saying he managed to use his menu to fix it. 

Well, that turned out to be a lie, huh.

He did not want to find out what else Henry lied to him about. 

He stumbled up, setting down the recording. There was a sway to his step as he walked up to the pub room in a daze. God, he hated when people called it the pub room. Just thinking about alcohol made his stomach turn and churn. It was the break room. Hell, Johan desperately needed a good break, and a listening ear, someone who could hear, understand, and contemplate. 

Susie was sitting with a cup of coffee, reading over her lines.

Johan felt a smile burst on his face, his exhaustion lifting. He crept up behind the woman, and then swooped to hug her around her shoulders.

“Ack! Ah! Joey! Hey there, sweetie,” Susie smiled up at him, patting the top of his head, opening a seat for him with her foot. “Come now, sit. We haven’t had a good talk in a while.”

He sat, unsure of what to say, opting to lean most of his body on the table, looking at her through his rose colored lenses. 

“Is something the matter, Joey?” she asked with concern, knowing that Johan tended to say something, anything, before coming into a seat, a ‘thank you’, a ‘how are you’, a ‘how’re your lines coming along’. This silence was unusual, though not eerie. She smiled at him again, trying to make him feel better. “Is it something about little old me, Joey? You know I wanna hear _all_ the gossip about myself, but that’s not really your thing, is it?”

“No, not really,” Joey’s smile managed to resurface. “But it is yours. I… need advice, but I also need the clothesline hearsay about someone.”

“Ooh, who?” Susie’s eyes flashed, excited. Joey and she never spoke rumors, he disliked them, knowing that they were often full on blasphemy. She watched the way his smile faltered again. “Who is it, Johan?”

“Henry.”

“Oh. Oh, I’ve heard some stuff,” Susie hesitated, avoiding his eyes. They flashed, and her blues met his reds for one moment. “Are you sure?”

“I need to know,” Johan murmured. “I’m finding things out, seeing more and more signs that Henry… just did not care. I need to know more, I need to figure this out.”

“I overheard him talking to someone,” Susie began after a moment of silence, deflating a bit. Johan realized she had been keeping this in for a long, long time. “At least, that was what I thought, at first. It sounded like he was arranging a hookup. Meet me at this place, I’ll bring this, you bring that, type of deal. I knew I shouldn’t listen more, but I was curious. Well, that killed the cat, didn’t it.”

“What was he t-talking about?” Johan asked, perplexed, as Susie paused once more. “Surely that’s not so unusual t-to trade with people.”

“I thought that at first, too, but,” Susie blushed, shifting and leaning closer to Johan to avoid any listening ears that could be hiding in corners. Johan copied the motion, brow furrowing as he did. “You know how I mentioned it sounded like a hookup?”

Joey nodded.

“Thing is, he said something about, um, sex,” Susie confessed. Johan stared at her, gaze uneasy. “Not that he’d cheat on you, I don’t think so, but he did say it, and I don’t know what the context was, he said ‘that’s sex’, and I stopped listening because, well, it became too private. Maybe he noticed I was eavesdropping and said it on purpose to get me away.”

“But if it wasn’t?” Johan asked, worried, biting his lip. Susie looked at a knot in the wood, running her fingers around it, an eye staring at nothing. Not lifting her eyes, she whispered, “I’d be nervous about my love life, if I heard Alison talking like that.”

“Shit,” Joey murmured, feeling tears sting his eyes. “Was I n-not good enough for him? That I didn’t w-wanna do that…? When was this?” 

“Joey, you were good enough, your boundaries should be respected, and Henry just was a git,” Susie assured him. “If he cheated on you, ooh, I’d drag him back to earth to give him a whooping he wouldn’t forget.”

“I d-don’t wanna think about that,” Joey swallowed, dropping his head into his hands. “Not that you’d thrash him, I’ve been e-entertaining some thoughts as well, but… I don’t wanna think that he’d cheat on me. He wouldn’t do that. Would he?”

“He might’ve made a loophole of it,” Susie sighed. “You know him. Give him a set of rules and he’ll figure out how to step around them. You’re similar, but you at least acknowledge the rules. The timing of that talk, though… it was before you left. Maybe he was talking to a patient? But I doubt that, I really do.”

“We don’t need to make excuses for him,” Johan slumped, patting her hand. “We’re in denial, aren’t we? What a damn tangled web this is, but a-all the threads point to Henry.”

“That they do,” Susie agreed, nodding once. Silence took over the room, Susie’s fingernails scratched along the eye in the table, and she thought, and spoke once more. “I heard Grant has an idea that you might want to hear.”

“So I’ve heard, too,” Joey muttered, getting up to get himself some tea, the smell of lavender permeating through the room, relaxing the artist and singer. “Want s-some, too?”

“Yes, please, Joey,” she smiled, and accepted the mug he handed to her. It had a wing for a handle, and she snorted as she realized why he picked that one for her. His own was plain black. “Aw, am I an angel to you, Joey?”

“Of course you are,” Joey scoffed, nearly offended. “Not only to me, but to th-the whole world.”

“Oh, Joey,” Susie laughed, rolling her eyes, pushing his face away as she guffawed. “Oh, you’re such a cutie, c’mere.” 

She pulled him onto herself, which was utterly hilarious to see this stretched out seven and a half foot man sprawled onto such a small soft lady. She kissed his cheeks, making him laugh as well from the exaggerated movements. 

“I am so lucky to have such a lovely long _boyfriend_ ,” Susie nudged him, grinning, a game they had been playing for years and loops. Joey’s eyes lit up, and she continued. “What a handsome partner I’ve got. Absolutely perfect for this lil’ lady.”

“And my _girlfriend_ is a gorgeous angel,” Joey gushed, hugging her and kissing her cheeks as well. “An Alice, if you m-may. Perfection! Stunning! Fell from above to grace us mere mortals with her delights and heavenly voice!”

Anyone looking in would have no idea that neither of these souls had the remotest bit of attraction to the other, as they appeared all over each other. Susie pulled Johan onto her lap so his long legs resided on either side of her torso, pulling his head down to meet her forehead. 

“If Henry had cheated on you,” Susie murmured to him, an upset look crossing her face. “If he _dared_ do that, I’d seduce him where he stood and right when he thinks things are going good, I’d slap him into the surface of goddamn mars.”

“Susie, you’re a genius!” Johan exclaimed after a moment of processing her words, jumping up. He started pacing, even as she stared at him, bewildered. “Strong emotions bring back ghosts, yes? Especially if they died in a shocking or painful manner, and I’m near certain that a b-bombshell qualifies both.”

“What on earth are you thinking of, Johan?” Susie asked, getting up to take his hand and slow his back and forth across the room. “You’re talking a bit nonsensically. Henry wouldn’t come back as a ghost, at least I don’t think he would. If he would, I think it means he wanted to, and he hasn’t.”

“Maybe he needs prompting,” Johan grinned, lopsided and nervous. Susie laughed a bit and shook her head. “What? It m-might be a good idea.”

“It is, and it’s wild,” Susie huffed, hugging him around his waist. “You’re brilliant, Johan.”

“I love you, Susie,” Joey told her, kneeling to hug her back tightly. He felt tears well in his eyes as she tightened the hold. His voice cracked as he went on. “You’re so s-sweet and nice and kind and m-my best friend. You’re my best friend, Susie. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Johan,” she murmured, rocking with him a bit. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve what Henry did to you. You don’t deserve it. God, what a bastard.”

Johan laughed a little even as he sniffed. 

“Mr. Drew! Mr. Drew!”

The two friends broke away from their embrace, Joey’s ears flicking to the direction of the hollar, the stairs down into the break room.

Dot and Buddy ran in, tripping over each other in an attempt to get to him first. 

“I found something in the writer’s room!” Dot shouted, and then Buddy called at the same time, “I found something in the art room!”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Johan remarked, moving to face them both. “What’s g-going on?”

“I found something in Henry’s desk!” Buddy excitedly blurted. “And Dot found some papers in Henry’s handwriting!”

“What sort of ‘something’?” Johan asked slowly, raising an eyebrow, sitting back at the table. Susie sat beside him, and the two apprentices sat across from their mentors. Joey folded a leg over the other, as Dot and Buddy spared one another a glance. “Well, what i-is it?”

“I found a sketch, a proper drawing, of you with notes,” Dot answered, shifting in her seat, practically jumping back up with anticipation. “But it wasn’t you. The details are all wrong. Here, have a look.”

Johan took the paper she handed him, leaning it toward Susie as she gestured for him to lower it. 

Dot was right. It was similar, almost identical to Johan, but there were unnerving differences. Scarless, posture boneless, too much missing. The lenses were uncolored. The smile did not reach his eyes, and those eyes - they were purple. Very, very distinctly purple, even Johan with his color blindness could tell, as it was written in the notes.

This was a blatant confession of something run through a copy machine, of a plagiarism, unnerving and deeply unsettling. 

“What the hell?” Susie asked, looking over it. “‘No limp’? ‘No stutter’? ‘No soul’? It’s like this thing was alive and with him. You don’t think….”

Susie trailed off, but Joey’s mind still ran, cogs on their highest setting. He could piece together the words without a problem. 

“And what did you find, Buddy?” he questioned quietly, quivering, a bow ready to be strung and snapped. The young man passed him a photograph, blushing, keeping it face down. Johan rose a brow. “What’s this?”

“I didn’t look at it,” Buddy admitted. “Mr. Flynn got to it first and said I should show it to you, without looking at it. He turned red, sir, so I figured it’s something embarrassing. He mentioned that the scar is on the wrong side, whatever that means.”

“Interesting.” Johan flipped it over, instantly turned red while turning it back over. He smiled, and swallowed, finding his voice after he fumbled a moment. “Kids, do you mind going out?”

They looked at each other again, silently communicating, then nodded, leaving the adults.

“What is it? Why’d you tell them to leave? Is it something gorey?” Susie asked softly, curious. “Well, you wouldn’t blush from that. Is it something promiscuous, a red handed catch of him?”

“Er, you could say that,” Johan dodged, but passed her the photograph, desperately trying not to crush it in his hand. She looked at it, and turned pink. 

“Oh, damn,” she whispered, then looked at Johan, studying his face. “Shawn’s right, it is on the wrong side. Unless the photograph is a misprint, but then the colors would be wrong, too. There’s not enough clues.”

“I don’t remember d-doing that,” Joey responded, shifting. He stared at the picture. On the bottom, in Henry’s handwriting, was a comment, ‘and it’s lewd’. A fear sparked in him. Looking over the photograph, he could see blotchy handprints on Henry’s skin, the stains that came from ink dotted all over his chest and stomach. Was it on his face, too? Johan could not tell from the camera angle, but he could guess, and the thought burned into his eyes, which he scrubbed at, disbelief written all over him. “I definitely didn’t d-do that. There’s more photographs, too, as he used the word ‘and’. Wait here.”

Johan went down to his office to bring up the tape recorder. Gracehopper sat on it.

“Hey, Grace,” he sighed, rubbing his legs. He really should have taken the elevator. “Just here t-to grab that recorder.” 

She seemed to nod, and Johan picked it up, and she fluttered to rest on Henry’s resume, trailing on his artistic skills. He frowned, picking it up, and she landed on his hand, flapping. 

“Is there s-something else you wanna show me?”

The way she floated before his face denoted affirmation, so he followed her as she glided through the halls, up to his apartment, landing on the portrait Henry had sent via the Franks twins. 

“Want me to take this, too?”

She tapped his hand to signal another confirmation. 

He took the three objects, now clues for Henry’s betrayal, back to the pub room, sitting down and setting them on the table.

He pressed play on the recording so Susie could hear it. As she listened, she looked through the other objects. 

“Can the kids shift their sizes?” she asked when the recording ended. Johan nodded. “Hm.”

Johan read over the resume, glancing at the portrait, then at the photograph.

“Oh, holy hell!” he hissed, dropping the objects as if they burnt him. “The scar is on the wrong s-side of the portrait too! He had a damn reference, and it was a goddamn ink doppelganger. He took it with him, he cloned me! These are c-comments about a copy! He fucking cloned me!”

Susie’s jaw dropped, not only from the swear, but the sheer anger that burst in Joey’s eye. Sucking in a shaking breath, he burned in embarrassment and fury.

“I never thought! I never thought I’d figure out w-what’s worse in a relationship than cheating with your stepbrother,” Johan laughed, without mirth, with a seething rage bubbling to a bursting point. “I never thought! I never had r-reason to suspect!”

Johan collapsed into the chair he had almost gotten out of, covering his face with his hands.

“He cheated on me with a _copy_ ,” he sobbed, the anger shifting into mourning. “I wasn’t good enough for him, so he just made a b-better version.”

“I’m disgusted,” Susie remarked, her hands starting to shake, putting down the picture, facedown. “I’m going to bring him back just to kill him. What a motherfucking dick!”

As she seethed, she noticed Johan’s weeping. The man’s head was on the table, hands gripping his elbows as he bemoaned in silence. Her heart broke, and she patted his back before hugging him around his middle, trying to calm his tremors. 

“Hey. Hey, let’s take you down to Bertrum and Lacie,” Susie suggested softly. He nodded though his shuddering sobs. “Come on. Come, sweetie. Oh, Joey. I’m so sorry.”

They managed to shuffle downstairs, Johan’s tripping gait held steady by Susie’s firm walk. Hardly anyone noticed and everyone who did knew better than to dare ask. Before long, the allegorical angel and distraught demon were in front of Bertrum’s office. They could hear the park creator talking to his spouse, happy and animated. Johan clammed up, unable to touch the door’s knob, so Susie did it for him. Bertrum’s smile slid the moment he saw Joey’s state. 

“What in heaven’s name is the problem, my dear?” he asked, ushering them both to the sofa. Johan burst into another round of tears, so Susie set herself to explain Henry’s infidelity. Bertrum and Lacie merely listened until the end. Lacie shook hir head, completely disappointed. Bertrum then remarked, “I suppose that Grant’s idea is now a necessity, if only to allow me to punch him.”

“Everyone keeps goin’ on and on about ‘Grant’s idea’,” Joey rasped, looking at all of them. “So does anyone wanna bother e-explainin’ it to me? Can someone please tell me what the hell it is?”

* * *

“So, there’s sixty levels to death?” Johan asked, trying to wrap his head around this idea. “And we’re on the 59th when we sleep?”

“Yes, and there’s other methods to go further along the path to death,” Grant confirmed, opening one of his text books. “Poverty, loss of vision, loss of limb use, imprisonment, illness. A few other things as well.”

Linda popped the bubble from the gum she was chewing with a snapping bite. 

“What about lucid dreaming?” she asked. She had grown from a small three year old into a young lady of sixteen, her hazel eyes bright and intelligent. She juggled three balls of ink, not bored, but lost in thought. “Can we simulate a sense of awareness during sleep?”

“I suppose so,” Grant said slowly. “Of course, this is only an idea. I was thinking that we can ‘wake’ Henry and pull him into our dream reality.”

“What if he doesn’t want to come back?” Lacie questioned, raising a brow and looking at Shawn, who nodded in agreement with her askance. “If he left in the first place. Why didn’t he protect himself from the blast? He easily coulda.”

Gracehopper, on a typewriter, demanded attention be paid to her, flashing brightly. She went to the keys she wanted pressed, and Abby quickly typed it out for her. 

“‘Henry knew he would die’,” she read aloud, then scoffed. “How, pray tell?”

Gracehopper typed furiously once more. 

“‘Listened in on Jo’s dreams’.”

“Yeah, I wanted to mention them to Papi,” Linda nodded. “Just lost my nerve when I was about to. Still, I’m glad it came out. It was when Papi was having a nightmare, and instead of soothing him, Dad was talking to him. Asking all sorts of questions. ‘How would it happen’, ‘when would it happen’, etcetera.”

“Well, if he did know he’d die, then he did it to avoid responsibility,” Norman rumbled. A few in the room bobbed their heads to acknowledge the possibility. “Well, do you think he did it to destroy evidence? Personally, I don’t. It’s not a Henry type of thing. In any case, if what you’re saying about ink creatures is true, he failed with that, anyways.”

“Ye,” Shawn smiled, arms folded and back leaning against the closed door. “Dumbass should’ve read yer notes. ‘Course he wouldn’t’ve, he musta been too desperate, jeez. What a jerk. Yeah, I know that I messed up in a lot of ways, too, thing is, I _talked_ to Wills about them. Didn’t just pretend nothin’ was happening. We talked things out. And! Benton an’ I literally told him to do that! We thought things were okay with ya. Then this fockin’ idiot comes along and goes ‘oh der her her, makin’ a clone of my life partner is a great idea!’ What an absolute fockin’ douche.”

“Shawn,” Alison softly said with a warning tone. The Irishman seemed not to hear her. “Shawn!”

“If I got my hands on him I’d tear him from stitch to stitch!” Shawn seethed, his pale skin flushing with anger. “What sort of person _does_ that? What sort of prick copies his partner and then goes and fucks around with it? I’m gonna kill him! I’m gonna fockin’ kill him! Kill him and then throw him in a pit with other shites like him!”

“He’s already dead, Shawn,” Willy dryly remarked, taking his husband’s hand to calm him down. “You can’t kill a man twice, ya know. Though, oh boy, I’d like to get my hands on him myself.”

Everyone in the room, aside from Johan, nodded in agreement with his statement. Joey was looking at the table, his left hand gripping his right before him. 

“Maybe we can bring him back. As an ink creature, a vessel, like the children. Then just dragging his soul back into it.”

“What?” Grant stared at him. It was obvious that the idea revolted Johan, even though he suggested it, so Grant took it upon himself to dissuade him. “Joey, bringing back the dead is… is impossible! There have been times recorded that the dead have been summoned, but as ghosts. A ghost won’t stop pathogen ink from reemerging. We need _Henry_ , as much as I hate to say that.”

“Mr. Cohen’s right, Papi,” Linda remarked, then picked up a paper, tapping a pen to her lower lip in thought, a smile forming. “But I think we’re onto something. What if we… what if we build a bridge. Or a ladder. Whatever you want to call it. That goes up from our world, into death’s?”

A few people glanced at each other, whereas Johan’s eyes narrowed, brow furrowing. 

“And how will we cross the bridge?” he asked. “To bring him back. He wouldn’t come by choice, that’s certain.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Linda replied, grinning at her own pun, making Joey’s lips twitch. “Maybe we’ll be able to smoke him out of it. Trick him. Anyone have any ideas of how we can do that, though?”

Susie shrugged. Most others made similar motions, some attempting to come up with something and having nothing to say.

Joey’s fingers itched. 

He knew that itch, knew it well, for it had drawn him into the first loop, and haunted him throughout the second, the itch growing and tingling and his right pinky ached, yet this time, this time, it was aching with anticipation.

Joey looked up at everyone, then his eyes rested on his daughter’s. 

“I have one.”

***

“Johan, you’re mad,” Susie told him. The two were walking, Joey leaning heavily on his cane. Susie paused a moment in thought. “Well, I’d be mad, too, but I’m saying you’re batshit crazy.”

“What other choice d-do we have, Suz?” Joey opened his arms, stepping once to stand before her. “See this empty field? These are all the ideas I have. None. Null. Zero. Zip. Nada. There’s this one, b-batshit crazy plan, and it’s our only damn hope. Resetting can’t be completed without Henry, unless we w-want to launch straight into p-pathogen ink.”

“Yeah, that’s not an option, I suppose,” Susie sighed. Johan stumbled, and she caught him, struggling (alarmingly not enough) to right him. “Joey, you need to eat something.”

“I will, I will,” he assured her. She frowned. “What?”

“Turning your hunger to zero does not mean you ate, Joey,” she accused, making him blush. “Johan Icarus Ramirez, you’re going to be Alison’s food test subject for a week. I’m sure Tommy wouldn’t mind sharing at all.”

“No! ‘M n-not hungry!” Johan protested, firmly sitting on the ground so that she would not be able to drag him anywhere. “I’m going to sit right h-here until tuesday.”

“It is tuesday.”

“Next t-tuesday, then.”

Susie glared at him, then smirked, heading inside. 

“I’m getting Lacie.”

“No!” Johan yelped, jumping up, dashing past her. It made her laugh, shaking her head, that the poor man struggled to walk, but could run as fast as a bullet. “I’m g-going to go on a nice, long walk, and pick up the kids from school in a few hours, and _then_ I’ll eat, ok?”

“Nope, I’m radioing Willy to pick them up when he goes for Marina and Gonner, you’re going right down to the pub room,” Susie marched up to him, and he groaned, leaning his head back. “Break room, fine. In any case, you’re going to eat what Alison made, and you’re going to enjoy it, understand, Drew?”

“Perfectly, Miss Campbell,” he exhaled, knowing this was a battle he would lose. She beamed, wrapping an arm around his waist, leading him into the studio. She dropped him off in the break room with the information that Alison would appear shortly, and that she would notify Willy to pick up Johan’s children along with his own. True to her girlfriend’s word, Alison stepped down the stairs, smiling at Johan. “Hello, Ms. P-Pendle.”

“I heard that you’re going to try out one of my recipes,” she replied instead of a greeting, excitement in her dark eyes. “I baked a strawberry shortcake, with extra frosting. I’ll grab you a piece really quick.”

Before Joey could count to three, there was a plateful of cake in front of him.

His mouth watered as the scent of the fresh strawberries mixed with the fluffy batter. He hardly thought as he dug a fork in, looking up and thanking Alison profusely, until she pushed the fork into his mouth. 

“Shut up and have a bite, you nerd!” she laughed at him. The flavor exploded in his mouth, a hum of enjoyment bursting in his chest. “It’s good, isn't it?”

“Delicious,” he replied, his throat feeling raspy from the sugary sweetness. “Positively heavenly.”

“Flatterer,” Alison scoffed, rolling her eyes. Johan pointed his fork at her, waiting to be able to swallow his next bite before continuing, “I meant it, Ali. You don’t find this level of quality work here on earth.”

“I’ll ask Henry about that when he gets back here,” Alison replied. Johan found swallowing suddenly much, much harder. He looked at his plate. The few forkfuls of strawberry shortcake left on his plate seemed to turn grey, and blurred as his eyes stung. “Oh. Oh, no, Mr. Drew, please don’t cry. Is something wrong? I shouldn’t’ve brought him up.”

“No, no, you’re fine, Alison,” Joey replied, struggling to smile as he scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his wrist. “It’s just. This is just like h-him, if you know what I m-mean.”

Alison hugged him. He broke down. 

“I’m gonna b-be so d-dehydrated from cryin’ s-so much,” he laughed, not sad nor happy, amused with himself. “C-can you get me another cup of j-jasmine tea, darlin’? Your decaf blend, please.”

“Of course,” she nodded, then went to the tea cabinet. She frowned. “Looks like I’m out. I’ll go pick some up from my locker. If you can’t finish the cake, that’s alright.”

“Alright,” Johan nodded. When she left he toyed with a forkful, but found himself unable to bring it to his lips. He sighed, pushing the plate away. He sank into his seat, then moved to the couch after he found himself on the floor, laying there miserably. “Ugh….”

He was a wreck.

Ever since finding out about Henry’s death, telling the children that Henry would not be coming back from war, hell, telling _himself_ that Henry would not be coming back, it hit like four thousand a hundred and forty bricks pelted straight at him. Then the slap in the face that was Henry’s cheating, and the even worse hit that he went off to war on purpose. 

Joey felt dizzy.

His body knew it was coming before he cognitively did, and then when the realization of what it was hit him, all he managed to say was, “Oh no.”

And he passed out.

Joey was sore when he came to. Shuddering, he tried to breathe, glad no one was around to witness this seizure. The week before it had happened in the front of the entire music department, Sammy protecting him, but still, it stuck. He would much rather not have seizures at all, but what was he to do? First his muscles broke down, so it would only be natural that they would lock up, too.

He sighed, pent up breath exiting his lungs. His eyes drifted shut. He knew he was not out too long, but the time was still gone.

Relaxing on the couch, Joey looked up at the ceiling. The door opened, and he smiled slightly. 

“Alison?” Johan questioned. There was no reply. He pushed himself up on the couch, confused. “Ali…?”

“Aw, don’t you recognize me, Mr. Drew?”

Johan screamed.

“GET OUT!” he shrieked the moment he could form a coherent sentence. “Out! Out! Out of here, you’re not welcome! Get out!”

“Joey, Joey, this must be a misunderstanding,” Johnny smiled. Not Johnny Doe, who was sweet and kind. Derekson. A man that haunted Johan’s nightmares and stalked his terrors. “Surely you know that your heart can be sensed from miles away. So open, so delicious. I got turned on the moment I smelled it in the air. Joey, you’re screaming for comfort. Come now, let me comfort.”

“Comfort!?” Johan laughed hysterically, a table now between them as he avoided him. “Comfort?! I don’t want your d-damn comfort! I want you t-to get the hell out of m-my studio!”

“I wanted to come here long ago,” Johnny snarled. “Months, your heart’s been bleeding over the countryside, and now it burst, so many aching emotions spilling out everywhere. There will be more coming. So, I came here to get to you first. Which would you rather, Drew, the devil you know or the devil you don’t? I can protect you. You’d be mine. No one would mess with me.”

“I don’t want to be yours, I don’t want y-your damn protection!” Joey shouted, stamping his foot. “Get out! Leave!”

With a fluid motion, the table slammed into Johan, crushing him to the floor, his weakened muscles not helping in the slightest against the weight. 

“Help!” Johan yelled, struggling as the weight of the table increased, Johnny forcing his mass on it as well, one foot planted on the table, the other firmly on the floor. He felt tears sparking and fuming in his eyes, and he writhed to escape. “H-Help! Help, please!”

“No one is coming for you, Joey boy,” Derekson hummed, grinning down at him, kneeling so they were face to face, Johan unable to punch the smug grin off his face from his awful vantage point. Johnny grabbed Joey by the hair, banging his head onto the floorboards twice, making him yelp and see stars. After he was sufficiently dazed, he dragged him out from under the table, Joey fighting even in his nonplussed state. “Here we go. Oh, man, I think I’m getting high just from that scent. Struggle more, Joey, go on. The terror pulsing out of your heart adds a brilliant spice.”

“Hey. There’s one Brokenheart here already, get out as you were told,” Joey almost wept from the relief of hearing Johnny, Johnny Doe’s, voice. Alison stood beside him, both of them blazing in righteous fury. “Get out.”

“Oh, great, company,” Johnny growled, pulling Johan up, dragging him with himself. “I’m not leaving until I get what I want. Until I take what’s _mine_.”

“Mr. Drew does not belong to anyone,” Alison coldy said, her words burning like fire. “He is his own person. Joey, can you hear me? Are you alright?”

Johan sought to meet her eye, managing as much, his head pounding far too much to do anything else. 

“He’s mine now,” Derekson barked, yanking up his hostage. “I had him first.”

“Pretty sure you didn’t,” Johnny Doe replied, both he and Alison slowly making their way down to rescue Johan from the monster that gripped him. “It never happened. No one’s had him.”

“Then I’ll take him,” he sneered. Joey closed his eyes, ready to pass out. He was jostled awake. “Hey, hey, you can’t ignore me. You have to stay up.”

“Help!” Joey screamed again, his heart slamming in panic, recalling his situation as his brain reconnected thoughts. “Oh, god, help!” 

There were thundering footsteps on the stairs.

“Oh, this bastard,” Thomas grit his teeth, Wally and Sammy beside him. They all wore expressions of disgust, each clutching whatever they had on hand - Sammy his baton, Wally bore his broom, Thomas his wrench. “Wally, Sammy, let’s teach him a lesson in consent, huh?”

“Oh, yes,” Sammy straightened his back, a scowl reserved for those who ruined a song at the last note on his face, barely restrained anarchy. “That would be wonderful, Tom. What do you say, Wally?”

“I say ‘I’m gonna kill you’,” Wally grinned wolfishly, nodding to his partners, pointing the end of his broom towards Derekson. “Let him go, pal, and maybe I’ll go easy on ya. Still, probably gonna kill you, just not as painfully. Let’s get him, fellas.”

Wally, true to his word, charged in, swinging his broom straight for Derekson’s head, fury for a man long gone now unleashed and burning. Knowing that the son of a bitch would use Joey to protect himself, Wally shifted the angle midswing, the broom landing with a sharp _crack_ onto Johnny’s leg, making him stumble. Sammy, while the man was incapacitated, tried to rescue Johan from his grip, only getting a punch in the face. Pale and nose bleeding, he crashed back onto Thomas, who helped him up. 

While this happened, a few others of the studio showed up, including Jack and Shawn, along with the other Flynns. 

Shawn’s eyes narrowed as he took in the man with a death hold on Johan. 

“When will you learn!?” he shouted, stamping his foot. The Flynns all poised to strike, looking every bit the syndicate they had been. “That your actions have consequences!?”

Even a man as capable as Johnny would be unable to keep a hold on his hostage with all of these mercenaries assaulting him, so he pulled from his pocket a utility knife, pressing it to Joey’s throat, glaring at anyone that dared take another step. Johnny Doe, however, moved towards him quickly, keeping his eyes locked with Johan’s, a silent assurance that it was under control.

“He won’t use the knife,” he told the others, Derekson roaring to keep the words from being heard. “Not on Mr. Drew, at least. He’d use it on us, so be careful.”

“Why not on Joey?” Jack asked him, moving close to his lover to corner the coward that slowly backed into the wall. “Why not? It would make things easier for him, wouldn’t it?”

“Physical pain tends to stopper up emotional release,” Johnny lowly replied. “If he hurts Joey, he wouldn’t get as much energy from him.”

Derekson lashed out with the knife, cutting into Johnny’s turtle neck jacket, the blade catching into the zipper. Doe grabbed his wrist and twisted backing away with the knife embedded in his clothing, unharmed. 

Derekson, weaponless, turned to rush down the stairs, tightening his hold on his stolen shield, pressing a hand to Joey’s mouth. Yet, as he walked past the foyer, Norman and Grant’s eyes glared up at his own, the two men marching with grim set grimaces. 

“Shit,” Derekson hissed. Contemplating, he slammed Joey against the wall, hand in his hair, about to bash his skull to the wood to daze him again, but a small tank of a woman went straight for his knees, knocking him away from Joey, and Susie’s girlfriend joined in momentarily, an arm wrapping around Derekson’s neck, locking him in a chokehold. Johan, realizing he was released, ran as fast as he could and bumped right into Lacie, Bertrum a step behind hir, both the epitome of anger. He dashed behind them, trembling and peering through his fingers. Derekson, thrashing, kicked Susie in the stomach, making her stumble away, and he was currently trying to get Alison to let him go, nails digging into her cardigan. “Oh, yeah, go run and hide behind your parent’s skirts, real classy, Drew!”

“Shut it, you coward!” Alison yelled, dumping the tea she had made for Joey onto his head, scalding hot. He shrieked, and backed into the wall, slamming his head back in an attempt to hit the woman’s. She wiggled away, rushing to Susie to check on her. She was fine, but definitely had bruising. Alison flipped Derekson the bird, cheeks burning with anger. “You’re a sewer rat!”

“Bitch,” Johnny rasped, though not long, as a howl tore through him as a wrench slammed between his legs, causing him to double over, Lacie stepping back for Bertrum to crack Derekson’s face against his knee. He growled, grabbing the park maker’s ankles and jerking back, Bertrum falling onto his back with the wind knocked out of him. There was a hissing noise, Ms. Lambert holding a can of pepper spray and aiming right for Derekson’s eyes. 

“Haven’t you ever heard not to stray after those vile things?” she demanded, helping Bertrum up, hauling him up and hauling out. “You okay, Mr. Piedmont?” 

“Just need to catch my breath,” he replied, leaning against the wall. “Not as young as I once was, my dear.”

Johnny was not alone for these times, the three mismatched boyfriends, tag teamed by the Flynns and Willy, encircled Derekson. There was a crack, Henrik having broken Derekson’s shoulder, the limb attached going limp. 

“Now you’ve done it,” Derekson grinned, spine snapping in a most unnatural way, arm snapping straight, longer than before. Whipping it in a circle, he cleared the space around himself, two of the Flynns getting a heavy strike with his other hand, knocking them unconcious. Joey watched with growing horror as the monster within the man slowly revealed itself. “You should have let me have what’s mine.”

“Don’t break anything else of his!” Doe yelled, a fist slamming to the underside of his chin, an uppercut that garnered blood. He collapsed onto Jack, whimpering in pain. Joey glanced about, making his way to the liquor cabinet while Derekson grabbed Norman, throwing him onto Sammy, the musician struggling to hold the man up. Susie ran into Johnny’s legs again, the knees snapping backwards, the man showing no pain, the limbs elongating and stretching. “Susie! Stop! Get out of there!”

Alison managed to whisk away the small angel, rolling away from a kick. 

Grant pulled a slingshot from his pocket, and loaded it with chips, each one landing precisely on Derekson’s neck and forehead, the beast roaring again, jowl rushing forwards, claws of arms reaching out for the accountant. 

Joey aimed, and threw the bottle. It crashed onto Derekson’s chest, the shattering glass embedding into his thigh. It whipped around to face Joey, red rimmed eyes.

“You,” he breathed, his breath like a poison, causing everyone’s hearts to tremble. “Oh, your heart, it’s so open. Give it to me. It feeds me so well, I feel your life draining into mine.”

“Henry cheated on you!” Doe yelled at Joey, flecks of blood coming along with the words. Derekson turned to face him, slowly. “He abandoned you to go to war, he died on purpose!”

“Stop that,” Derekson hissed, lowering his head as though to run through Johnny. Johnny copied the motion. “You might be stronger than me, but I can still tear you to shreds.”

“Not with me by him,” Jack stood, seeming to bristle. Willy moved to stand beside them as well, eyes dark. “Nor with me.”

Everyone moved slowly to stand beside one another, encircling the monster. 

Johnny Derekson could not see one person to focus his attack on, and in his hesitation, he was struck down, even though he fought like a demon.

“Deepthroat this, you mother focker!” Shawn shouted, ramming his knife into the creature’s mouth, downing him fully. He was held to the floor with the efforts of magic and hand. He kept his eyes on Johan when he was pressed to the ground, tousled like a chicken, blood seeping from cracks in rubbery skin.

Joey felt like he was falling, his heart beating frantically, he gripped his pin, gasping as a sharp pinprick jammed through the organ, falling to his knees, desperately trying to close off his heart. 

“So good,” Derekson groaned, grin returning. Despite the grips on him, he picked himself up slowly, every nerve on fire, clothing torn in his shifting. “Joey’s got so much pain and his heart is _so open_ , it’s a rush straight to the head. Doe, how do you stand it? Don’t you want to just knock him down and take all that, mmm, all that flowing life?”

“I’m a decent person,” Johnny snapped. “And you don’t see any other broken hearts running around here, do you? We’re decent. You’re a blight to our name. Your horns never have grown in, and they never will. Banished, you are, banished you will be, banished forever more. Gone are your horns!”

Derekson screamed, reaching to the top of his head. Gone they were.

Joey looked at him, and he looked back at him, feral and bestial. 

Joey closed his eyes tightly, gripping his computer.

“Don’t!” Johnny roared. “Don’t you dare!”

He howled, a pit opened beneath him, and he was gone as well.

Joey threw up in the trash can, grimly feeling that this was a far too regular occurrence. 

He was gathered up into Bertrum’s arms. 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he soothed, and then Joey realized he was crying. “Johan, you did brilliantly, you did wonderful. You’re okay, yes? We’re all okay. Only bumps and bruises. It’s all okay.”

“I, I, I,” Joey sobbed, burying his face against Bertrum’s chest, taking in the comforting scent of cologne, basil, and oregano, thin shaking arms wrapping around his uncle’s middle. “I didn’t know w-what to do, I j-just struck, I w-was too scared, I, I-”

“Shh,” Bertrum firmly murmured. “It’s okay. We’re all safe. Right?”

A chorus of affirment swelled Johan’s heart. He shook, weeping. 

“We’re all here for you,” Alison told him, Susie leaning against her, the smaller angel continuing, “No matter what.”

“Aye!” the Flynns cheered, the two that had been knocked out up and about already, fixing up the overturned furniture. Willy and Wally nodded too, smiling warmly. Thomas and Sammy high fived, and turned to Joey. “We care about you. And we’re proud of you.”

Joey cried harder, Grant’s hand coming to his shoulder. 

“Very, very proud of you,” he rumbled. Bertrum nodded. Lacie kissed his brow, “So proud of you.”

“Aw hell,” Johan cried, “Hell, hell, hell….”

“Hush, darlin’,” Lacie whispered. “We’re all okay.”

“Yep,” Norman nodded.

“Good here!” Johnny Doe called.

Joey found a cup of tea pressed into his hands. 

“Decaf jasmine,” Alison said, smiling softly. “Just like you wanted.”

Joey thought he might pass out, and instead thanked her, wiping at his tears, taking a sip, letting himself be lulled into the soft bliss of the drink. 

“I think I n-need a nap,” Johan remarked. He got a few laughs from it, some tired. “I think we all need one. Mandatory naptime.”

“Sounds like a dream, to me,” Wally replied, nudging Willy, who rolled his eyes. “Whaddya say, bro? Naps are nice.”

“Yes, they are,” Shawn remarked, wiping his gorey knife on a tissue. “I could go fer one, too.”

“If you need medical care, go to the infirmary,” Johan yawned. “Everyone else, naptime, then.”

There were murmurs of agreement. 

Joey, in the midst of snoozing workers, felt safe, at home, and surrounded by friends, and family.

He drifted off, smiling and comforted. 

It was okay. 

* * *

The plan was held together by thread, glue, and splashes of ink hiding imperfections. Booting up the old studio files made johan fight back a cringe - the coding was messy, had no order whatsoever, and barely held together, errors everywhere. He set himself to fixing the mistakes.

Most workers agreed to help, if not all. Johan did calculations, and assigned them the steps closest to life. There were a few workers with disabilities, which allowed them to go further along than the others. Johan made a special code that allowed each to enter a state of lucid dreaming, and together with Linda, they laid the foundation of their path to death.

A ‘dream’ cloud was made, some with more experience than others, but everyone did their parts. Some volunteered to go further, and Johan readily accepted their offers, but not without warnings and precautions. They made sure to maintain exits and proper times for REM sleep, modge podge plan slowly coming together. 

There were ghosts and spirits that watched their work in silence, creeping on the edges of their vision, curious as to what the souls of the living were doing in their domain. 

Alice’s fading got worse, wavering between health and illness, the stress causing Johan’s plunges into the bridging abyss to happen more and more frequently. Though, speaking literally, they were not plunges, rather, they were surges into the world next to theirs, the ones that could be felt and sensed, but never seen, heard, or experienced, unless the force of reckoning was too great to be ignored by human senses. 

The Archives, in essence, became a breakroom.

Some people liked the bridge world more than reality, though Johan talked them out of it.

There was a ‘village’ built, a staged appearance. Joey pulled up the old models of searchers, bloaters, and lost ones, people choosing the appearances they desired. Of course, Joey warned the searcher group, that there would be more danger for them, though the vast majority stuck true to their words.

Many had lost friends and family before themselves in the outburst of pathogen ink. 

No one had survived the onslaught of the plague, and absolutely no one was willing to risk it happening again. 

Besides, they reasoned, Johan would return to them the use of their legs after the ordeal.

They were not him. He was the one to cross the bridge, they only were there to build and maintain it, to play their parts and stick to the script. 

There would be nowhere for Henry to turn, aside from the path they paved. 

Joey was desperate, and made sure to keep the path blocked, solid columns of wood and ink blockading any hacking out. Henry would still be able to access his menu, of course, but there would be no way around it; after all, Henry never bothered to learn from Joey how to displace himself in reality. 

Nothing would tear Joey away from his family. If Henry did not want to be a part of it, fine.

Fine.

Fine!

FINE!

He did not have to be!

The foundation took the longest to build, though had the most people working on it. 

Wally got a script to play as Tom, Tom the Wolf. Thomas was Alison, Alison Angel. Sammy would be himself. That would be for the endgame, the sinker. 

Summoning Willy’s parasite was no easy task, though not because the creature did not want to come, but because Willy kept falling asleep. Still, they enlisted his help, Mirror’s help.

“On one condition,” the parasite cackled. “I get to give the sucker a big ol’ punch, too.”

His condition was accepted, naturally.

Still, it was difficult for Johan to form the rest of the path. Yes, he had helpers, but he knew that he alone would bridge the final steps.

With a sigh, he made his way down into the induction room, as it was so lovingly called - a room to induce sleep. There were some who, unable or unwilling to go the distance themselves, had taken crash courses in nursing to attend those in their stasis, and there were other workers still doing their ‘day’ jobs. 

Joey made his way to his induction bed. He was tired. He had not gotten any real sleep for weeks, but the false rest that the body was under in the haze made up for it, if only a little. A few stirred in their dreams, some hands making building motions, others painting, some practicing moving in their ‘new’ bodies. 

Joey looked at his forum. 

He was still within the first ten levels, still wholly in life, but he knew it would not be so long until he would be bridging into the next level. 

Grant was working with his finances to leave him penniless, distributing what little he amassed to charities. The kids were taken in by Bertrum and Lacie, Joey’s heart breaking as he signed over the release of his guardianship. 

He could tell why it was like death, to lose one’s children. 

Linda ‘married’ Marina, in essence, she was just leaving his family to join the Franks’, and even though Johan knew it was only temporary, it still ripped his soul to shreds. 

With no one and nothing.

It certainly felt like death. 

Still, like Iyov, Job, he knew there would always be more to give.

He lay on the induction bed. 

“Are you ready, Mr. Drew?” Thomas asked, slipping on surgeons gloves. Susie stood beside him, waiting for Joey to nod. He did, and she strapped him onto the bed, carefully removing his glasses. “Are you sure that you want to do this step next?”

“I’m already infected with a-an unmutative P.I.,” he held back a cough. “Already lost my f-family. My boyfriend cheated on me. I’m not to leave the studio, n-not even to my garden. What other s-steps should I go for next? I have nothing to give.”

“Are you sure you want to be awake, for this, then?” Susie asked, gently, holding two needles. Johan briefly saw his father, and he swallowed roughly. “Remember, Grant said it _might_ make an additional step if you’re awake. It might not, too.”

“Just put the n-number, I want to be awake,” Joey responded after thinking. “Might is b-better than won’t, we need as much as we can get.”

Susie nodded, swabbed a bit of skin on his neck, the smell of the acetone like substance soothing him as she pricked him. 

He could feel his arms shutting off.

“Ok, it’s working,” he told them. Susie drew the curtain around the bed. Thomas adjusted the scalpel in his hand. “I’m ready.”

***

The eyepatch, or rather, eye bandage, was only slightly uncomfortable.

To make the kids feel better about the change, he read to them Treasure Island, that is, when he saw them after school. Mostly, they were with Bertrum and Lacie, though Joey tried his best to see them whenever he could.

As it were, the damage was enough to push him into the next stage, and along with him came Bertrum, who paralyzed his arms and legs nightly to join him. Lacie joined them as well, though worked more than she planned on going into the nightmare they built for Henry.

After his eye, the next steps were easier, as his muscular system was already damaged.

Of course, he did it awake, just as the last time.

Even though Alison was reluctant, she agreed it was necessary.

Even she and Susie had undergone transformations in the dream world, merging bodies and crashing orifices. 

She hesitated, looking at the needles in Johan’s back.

Johan was drained. No money, no energy, no family, nothing. 

“Alison,” Johan released the strap of leather he was biting down on, looking the woman in the eye while he spoke. “As your employer, as your boss, as your leader, as your _friend_ , I ask you, please. Do it now.”

Susie’s blue eyes were on his, his own fear reflected in them. So he smiled even through the leather, and tried not to pay attention to the needles entering his system. Susie’s eyes trailed to his back, the majority of which was covered, only the bottom visible, Alison’s acupuncture carefully pressed within. 

There was a long, thin knife pressing above them, Alison readying the blow. 

He inhaled.

Wiggled his feet.

Exhaled.

_Whoosh_.

The rush of air matched his breathing.

Johan tried to move his feet.

He looked at Susie. 

He smiled.

And broke into sobs.

Hiding his face in his arms, Joey, blocked out the sounds of Susie and Alison, not desiring to hear anything at all.

What was he doing? Who was he doing this for?

Not Henry.

He was doing this for his family, for the world. 

Did he ever do anything for himself?

Ever?

He did not think he wanted to answer that question. He reasoned that his family was for himself, but the wise part of him questioned how that would be so if he could not survive these ordeals. 

He let himself be raised off his stomach by Alison.

“I want a goddamn ice cream,” he said. “I want a goddamn ice cream with extra whipped cream and sprinkles. Or, better yet. I want a milkshake. I want lactose. I want sugar. I want to watch a cheesy movie. I want a lot of goddamn things, and tonight I’m binging all of it.”

“You go for that, Johan,” Alison told him, helping him into his wheelchair. “You definitely deserve it. Do you want to watch it with someone? We can have a movie night. For morale.”

“That’s a good idea, lovely,” Susie remarked, kissing her cheek. “What do you say, Joey? A nice movie night sounds really good.”

“Yes.” he waved a hand, in thought. “What else do I want?”

“Well,” Susie looked at Alison. “You’ve hardly ever talked about what you want, Joey.”

“Exactly,” he remarked, glancing at them. “I’ve been wondering if there _is_ a-anything that I want, for myself. It feels like I’ve never d-done anything for me. Is that weird?”

“Well, you did run away from the Ramirez Estate,” Alison pointed out.

“Anarchy,” he nodded sagely, a twinkle in his eye. “I want a-anarchy. Someone get me Sammy.”

“On it, Mr. Drew,” Susie saluted, going off up the stairs. “I’ll take him to the _pub_ room.” 

“Yes,” Joey rolled himself to the elevator. “I would wanna go for a f-few other things, but, no. Only minor things for this g-guy.”

Minor things included a full bucket of ice cream followed by vomiting into the toilet, but in total honesty, the fact he ate ice cream because _he wanted to_ , not as a reward or treat, made the queasy feeling completely worth it. The movie was great. The company was lovely. 

Things were okay, and Johan was happy with how they were going. Even though the situation was a damn mess, he could be as happy as possible within it, just by doing things he _wanted_. Being stuck in his studio no longer was pure torture, he relaxed even as he built in his dreams.

Sammy was staring at him, a bewildered smile on his face. The two were on the roof, Joey talking about an episode animatedly.

“What’s with that look, Lawrence?” Joey asked him, grinning, wheeling in a circle. He tended to do that instead of his pacing, now. “You l-look like Wally just slipped onto the floor because he spotted a piece of chocolate, a-and then yelled in that Wally way, ‘I’m alright!’”

“You’re happy,” he replied. Joey looked out to his rose garden (which was being maintained by Willy while he was quarantined), sombering. Sammy put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, happier.”

“Mm.” Joey answered, drawing within himself. He never thought he could be happy without Henry, and he understood why Henry would make a copy of him, in a twisted way. “It’s because I _am_ happier.”

“Things are good,” Sammy nodded. 

“They’re only gettin’ better.”

* * *

They celebrated when they broke into the second level away from death. Joey played violin for everyone, along with some members of the music department. It was glorious, the paralyzed, half blind, and vocally reduced man. Jameson stayed near his side almost all the time, as well as the other Jays, so that helped his communication issues. Even stripped of everything, he could find happiness. Thomas was studying hard to be able to maintain the programming that would be keeping Joey alive in the final steps. It had been hard, long months of work. Joey played with his haunted chessboard, discovered he liked sudoku, and made new dishes. 

He was getting better, even with his body a wreck. At least he did not fall over with his seizures anymore, being that he was seated all the time. He looked at a map of the coded studio, proud of the work that was completed alongside his workers, friends, family. Things were going good, things were nearly perfect, as close to perfection as could exist in such a small space. 

Joey was given a flower crown by Jack, a kiss on the cheek from Susie, and warming hugs from nearly everyone, aside from those who were uncomfortable with touch, who instead blew him kisses from the overhang. 

Then there was a rumbling that started in their chests, ringing outwards to the whole of their bodies, members looking at each other, eyes landing on Johan even as he seemed perplexed. Signalling for Thomas, the two made their way to the room with the machine. 

The machine was gurgling and coughing, sputtering out a creature, unformed yet, needing the proper dosage of creation. Thomas and Joey measured it out, and watched as the copy of Johan rose from the puddle of dark liquid night. 

“Hello,” it said, looking from the shocked Thomas to the pale Joey. It grinned, much too wide for even Johan. “Oh! You!”

‘Me?’ Johan asked, pointing at himself with a thumb. It nodded, walking over with ease, Thomas looking greatly uncomfortable and edging away. “You’re me. We do not look the same, though. You don’t look so good, physically, but you look very good emotionally.”

Joey looked at the creature. It did not breathe. It was smiling, still.

Then its hands shot to his throat, squeezing. 

“He wanted me dead,” it stated, tightening the grip. “So he would want you, dead, too.”

Joey’s trembling hands pressed to its wrists. He pitied this being, this thing with no soul. 

Thomas tried to approach, but the odd sensation of being remotely near the creature burned, and he turned out of the room, calling, “I’m getting help, Joey, hold on!”

“D-did he?” Johan managed to wheeze through broken vocal cords and flashing in his eyes. 

“Yes.” 

“How d-do you,” Joey pulled in a breath, struggling to do so. “Know?” 

“I know.” It replied. “I remember.”

Joey looked at it with sadness. The clone’s hands suddenly shook. Johan pitied it. It hardly knew anything, nothing, really, and here it was, again, without any guidance, going through with its last memories.

“I… where is Henry.” it stepped away. Johan gasped in breaths. “Where. Where is Henry?”

‘Dead’, Johan signed, rubbing his throat. The ink creature stared at him. He pitied it. 

“He cannot be dead,” oh, great, it was in denial. “I was with him. He said I would protect him.”

‘He lied’, was the silent response. Its eyes blinked. It shook its head. ‘He is dead’.

“But,” it struggled with thinking, having never thought before. “But. But he cannot be. But he is.”

Joey nodded. The creature shook, curling up, then as it stood, it was in Henry’s form. 

“No, I can be him, and you can be how he was to me,” it said, with a hint of desperation. Johan shook his head, pitying it. “No, don’t- don’t do that!”

It shifted into a form of no one truly, not Joey, not Henry, no one. Itself. 

“What am I?” It asked, looking to black hands. “I cannot feel. I know I am lost. What am I?”

“You’re a b-being,” Johan croaked. “You’re you.”

“But… I don’t want to be,” it seemed distressed. It was distressed. Joey felt an ache growing for the poor thing. “Can I help you?”

‘How?’ Johan questioned, bewildered. ‘How would you want to do that?’

“You want to go into the next step into death,” it replied. “I can take you there. I have been there.”

‘Will it be permanent?’ Joey asked, nervous. The thing shook its head. ‘How do you propose this?’

“Merging,” it answered, moving close to him, helping him from his wheelchair, encasing his body in ink. 

Joey hardly fought, knowing that the creature was doing what it sensed to do - what it knew innately. He could see memories of Henry, of himself, flashing in his vision, and he stumbled back onto his wheelchair, passing out.

Henry was in his dreams, sitting in a court. Johan did not recognize anyone there, but knew he should not look at them. 

“Let me go back,” Henry was pleading. “Let me go back, I’ll change. I promise. Let me go back, please, I need to make things right.”

There was a feeling of dissent. 

“Please! I… I need to apologize!” he begged, falling to his knees, wings drooping behind him. “Please, please, let me go back! Just for a-”

Henry was dragged out from the court.

“Please!” he struggled to re-enter. “I can’t stand watching this anymore, I can’t stand seeing what I’ve done, let me go back, let me fix what I’ve done!”

“Henry?” Johan managed to breathe, looking at the dead man. The other did not see him, tossed out of the court and into a garden. He ran to find and exit, barred by swords of flame. Despite what the man had done to him, Joey still wanted to comfort him, and almost felt guilty, but settled in his heart that he could be upset and still love someone. Henry slammed a fist on a wall, curling up. “Oh, darlin’... we’re comin’ for you, just hold tight.”

He knelt, and kissed Henry’s brow. 

Henry gasped, eyes wide, looking up, but Joey had already vanished, and he would have been invisible to his eyes, in any case.

Still, Henry felt the urge to build a ladder and a bridge, and he found out how to menu in the necessary tools to escape the appeal court of death.

Johan woke up, concerned faces looking at him. He could feel the memory of Henry’s skin tingling on his lips, and he shivered, smiling a bit to himself. 

“Henry’s building towards us,” he rasped, getting shocked looks and gasps. His head felt heavy. “Ugh… head….”

“You just grew six feet of hair in your sleep,” Lacie remarked, lifting some of it. Joey stared at it - it was inky blue. “It was like watchin’ a time lapse or whatever ya call it.”

“Maybe I’ll keep it,” he joked, then coughed. He swapped to sign. ‘I know I just slept, but I need a nap. Not induced.’

The next week, Joey powered up the computer’s generator, roaring to life.

It was time.


	5. Induction

Johan’s bandaged hand ached, though it  _ was  _ his right hand, which made matters a little better, though he had to say, missing a thumb on any hand was rather disturbing. Of course, in more ways than one, so he made sure to hide it by his stomach. It made typing a pain in the ass, and he was glad for Ms. Lambert’s assistance. Still, it was so close, the bridge nearly spanning all Fifty Nine steps, each chapter making up for ten, sans the first and last, as the first was the final five, and the last managed to broker twenty four. 

Henry, and Henry, oh! he was making the last bit of the bridge.

Joey was wrong that he would resist. 

Maybe he was wrong about what he had done. 

There was that sliver of hope.

Johan lay on the operating bed. They changed things up, in this room, now that the bridge was on the verge of completion. Shawn, who had natural lucid dreams, was their relay man, head smothered in wires that would take his electric pulses and turn them into words, Thomas their technician with Lacie. Thomas was the right hand, Lacie the left hand, both together to form one whole working body.

Their vehicle was Joey. Their path was paved, though with sticks and stones of self sacrifice and hard questions that had been forced an answer.

Joey, in his heart, knew that he was doing this not only for the world, not only for his employees, not only for his friends, not only for his family, not only for his children, and not only Henry (because deep down, he knew he wanted to do this for Henry, too, so the man could prove he deserved it). 

He was doing this for himself, too.

The thought terrified him. 

It thrilled him. 

The thought of freedom.

Of weightlessness. 

His hair, still its now unnatural length of just over six feet, was a good reminder of the gravity of his world, its clawing hold and grip on him. 

This was why escape to other worlds was so wonderful.

He always did it to escape his burden; not even that truly for himself, for he knew that if he slipped, the world placed so heavily on his back would crush him.

The world placed by Henry.

Yet… yet without Henry, what would his world be?

Desolate and empty. 

None of his children, none of his family, none of his friends.

He very well might have scraped by on nothingness until the inky void took him and finally reunited him with his darling baby, and it would have taken 55 years too long.

Henry  _ was _ his world, and he loved him, despite his flaws.

Joey lay on the operating table. 

Giving the ‘All Clear’ signal, he found an air mask placed over his face, electrical nodes hooked to his body, his head, a regulator attached to his heart that was so carefully exposed. Unlike the last time his heart was torn out to the world, this one was gentle, controlled, in his power and choice. 

“Heart rate will be set to 25 BPM,” Lacie remarked, jotting it down. “Breathing to?”

“One respiratory cycle a minute,” Thomas reminded. They had gone over this many times. Better safe than sorry. Of course, none of this was safe, at all. Better to have no mistakes. “We’re going to send you in, Mr. Drew. Countdown to start up in three, two, o-”

Joey heard no more, eyes going dark, mind going blank, body going slack, the hold of death petting over his form.

The rumble of the start up came from deep within his chest. 

It felt like a prideful roar.

There was the start up menu.

Joey prayed Henry would start.

He prayed.

He begged in silence.

Feeling the cold metal of the machine envelop him, calm and tranquil, he nearly cried with relief. 

Then….

Then….

His voice.

“Joey, I’m here.”

The ink all over his body dripped with excitement and anticipation.

He actually… he actually did it.

Both he and Henry: Henry actually took an effort, he actually pulled himself up to stand to responsibility; and he, Joey, actually was in a sort of limbo, so close and so far.

A pent up breath he did not know he was holding slipped out of his lungs. 

After some time, Johan could hardly tell how long, Henry came into the ink machine room.

Johan looked at him.

Henry looked at him, the machine.

They both looked older.

They both looked tired.

However, in the fear that was in Henry’s eyes, in the worry Johan saw in them, he saw… hope. Determination. He saw a firm posture and a world blazing in Henry’s eyes. And regret. 

So much regret, and so much grief.

Johan’s heart panged, and he wanted to wrap him in his arms, promising him that it would be alright, working with him until the end of the road, but he knew that touching him would cause a spark, a flash bang, and neither would want that. He knew from analyzing the past, from studying until his eye felt like it were to melt, and he did not want to risk it.

Besides, Henry had not apologized. 

He turned around and went to collect the objects. Not that Joey was surprised he did not say anything, as Henry tended to be so stubborn when it came to admitting his own mistakes.

But he would apologize.

He  _ would _ .

He  **_must_ ** . 

If he did not… well… as much as the thought tormented Johan, the moon would have to break out of orbit from the world it loved so dearly, with tears and anguish.

All Johan could do was wait.

***

Henry was none too pleased with the situation.

It brought back a multitude of awful memories. 

Still, he knew why Johan had picked those memories, he knew why this was his path to forgiveness, he knew, and accepted his task, no matter the burden.

Thus he gathered each item, one at a time.

The tape recorder. He froze, and picked it up.

Wally’s voice came wafting from it, and Henry sagged against the wall. The last members of his family that he had seen were the twins, Wally in particular, and god, it hit like a punch to the gut.

The miasma of the studio engulfed him, entrenching him in his own mistakes, written out like black ink on white parchment. Who was he to the world he so damned?

A traitor. 

A traitor of the highest order.

What had he done?  _ What had he done?  _ **_What had he done?_ **

Henry knew he had to fix this. He had to.

So he pulled the lever. 

***

Johan knew that Shawn was working at his max ability, and it worried him. Johan felt the ink weighing him down as he was given a body, and it was not quite a body he could work with, but for now, until they could perform more edits, it would have to do. 

That was what he thought, at least until Henry’s eyes met his own, and the world crashed.

Johan, groggy, lungs burning, woke within the machine once more to Shawn’s voice buzzing in his ear.

“Should I make contact with Stein, boss?” he was asking him. “There’s not enough power to generate the bridge. The computer’s crashin’. Do you want to request a pause?”

“Send request,” Johan rasped, rolling out his shoulders. A few moments later, Shawn’s voice returned. “Request sent. Prepare for pau-”

Johan felt the world freeze around him, breathing becoming a difficult task, harder than kneeling before someone and allowing their blade on one’s skin. 

Still, he breathed, and pulled forth his device, a small miniature computer that would instantly update the one in life. He changed the particle mass, then his own model, and then sent an all clear signal, waiting for Henry t-

“-se. Ah, I see it worked. Good job, lad- I mean, Mr. Drew.”

“I need air,” Johan wheezed. His lungs felt as though they were encased in coffins. “Add an extra breath, p-please.”

The pressure eased. 

“Good, thanks,” he whispered, then sank back to resting in the machine. “I gave him a device that should h-help him with everything. I can take it away from him if he d-doesn’t deserve it.”

“I wouldn’ta given him shit,” Shawn muttered, then cut their com with a, “Good luck.”

Johan could hear Henry replacing the items on the pedestals. He could hear him going to the lever, pulling it. He could hear him approaching him.

He slammed a fist into his face.

Boy, that felt good, even with the electric jolt that passed through them, Henry staring slack mouthed at the grinning ink demon. 

Joey moved his hand, signing to Henry a simple message.

_ Run. _

Run he did, rolling over the trip pipe, gripping onto the seeing tool, running as fast as he damn could as ink poured around him.

Shawn’s voice crackled in his ear once more. 

“Dunno what you did, but we’re at full power,” he told him, Johan sinking against wood to rest. “Do ya want us to give him the scythe?”

“No, not yet,” Johan panted, each breath as though drinking honey. “The rest of this bit is up t-to Henry, and Henry alone. I need to sleep, wake me as soon as he enters the, the pentagram room.”

“Understood. Rest cycle activated.”

Darkness overtook his vision.

“Joey, he’s approaching the pentagram room,” Shawn woke him. Johan stirred, stretching his limbs out in preparation for waking. “Want us to pull you up?” 

“Y-yeah, just a seco-” 

Joey’s mind flashed, jarring him, knocking him down to the floor once more.

His wheelchair came to mind, making him gasp, the machine so close yet so far, and he could see his reflection, his demonic reflection, in the metal.

“We’re getting you out of there, hang on.”

Joey felt like a weight was bloating out his chest, a balloon, as he rose and fell all at once.

“What the hell happened?” Thomas was demanding. Shawn was wide eyed, confused himself. “Why did it flicker out like that?”

“I think it’s b-because,” Johan coughed, switching to sign, Jack stepping up to interpret. “Joey says that what we’re doing is unnatural, that the world is trying to reconcile us pulling Henry back in, even though he’s dead.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Thomas sighed. “You okay?”

Johan remembered the touch of Henry.

He smiled.

* * *

Sammy was quite happy to be selected to accompany Johan to the next level. The choice had been made a long time ago, and he had worked long and hard to make sure that his chapter would be in perfect working order.

His inky form was quite similar to his regular one, aside from his request to be buffed. Of course, Joey laughed, and fulfilled his askance, and Sammy was pleased with the results, though, there was some minor confusion easily addressed, the confusion of his situation of how fabric and ink would work together. 

After pondering for some time on his own, he decided to just go ask Joey, and sought him out in the sacrifice room, where he waited on a barrel, resting.

Sammy stared at him, silently looking at the creator. 

Why would someone give up so much for the world? Sammy did not think that he would do the same, no, he would have decided to give Henry a chance, instead returning every flower on Henry’s grave with a spit and good riddance, and in lieu of tearing himself to shreds for the chance that he could save the world with a reset, would have tried to make a cure for an immedicable disease, and once evident there would be no antidote, would have sat and played his banjo to his boyfriends until time would take him into the abyss.

“Drew,” he smoothly remarked, stepping up to the ink covered man, holding a pair of pants with suspenders. “How am I supposed to put these on?”

Joey looked at him from the eye he could see with.

“With great difficulty.”

“Ah.”

There was a silence between them for a few moments, Sammy fingering the smooth, silk like fabric in his hands. The question burned his lips, pleading to be spoken aloud, demanding to be heard and inquired to the other man.

“Why are you doing this?” Sammy murmured, taking another step towards Johan. Ink dripped from both of them, smooth and flowing, merging in the whispers of the watchers beneath them, those on the sides and ceiling watching from betwixt wood. “Why rip yourself to shreds, Joey? For a man that turned his back on you?”

“When life gives you lemons,” Johan began with a slight smile, Sammy about to roll his eyes, “Squirt them into life’s eyes. Make l-life regret ever introducing ya to a lemon. Use them to stone life an’ bury them in the acidity of what they gave ya.”

“Are you okay?” Sammy asked, bewildered, though, also strangely inspired. “I mean, that’s a good idea and all, but….”

“You’re asking me,” Johan gave a pause, then continued, one eye locked on Sammy, the only eye that could be, “If I’m okay.”

“That’s a dumb question, fine,” Sammy admitted, wondering if Johan could tell he was blushing. Probably not, if it was anyone other than Johan, but it was Joey, so he turned away ever so slightly, just in case, because who knew what Johan Ramirez could do. “But you know what I mean, Joey. Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” Joey snorted. “Absolutely wonderful. Missing about a fourth of my body and more than half of my f-faculties, but y’know, I’m doing great.”

“Joey, I’m sorry, but you’re such a sincere bastard I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic right now.”

“Of  _ course _ I’m bein’ s-sarcastic!” Joey laughed, slapping a hand to his forehead with a slight groan, shaking his head as he chuckled. Sammy smiled, but blushed all the more, hiding it behind the mask in his other hand, making a show of putting it on. “Mister Sammy Lawrence, m-my good friend, do ya really think I’m okay? No, m’not okay, n-not at all. What am I supposed to do, though? Give in t-to misery? Never! So, here I am, waitin’ for my cheater of a boyfriend to follow me back to life, and hope he earns f-forgiveness along with helps rescue the world he so royally screwed-d over.”

“Ah.” Sammy said once more, feeling just a tad humbled. Maybe his character had something going about worshipping the man. 

“I was sarcastic about the p-pants, too,” Joey murmured. “It shouldn’t be hard to put ‘em on. You’re ink, Sammy - should come right on and off like any other pair. I-if it’s stainin’ you’re worried about, I can assure you, there’s no staining.”

“I see,” Sammy remarked, then sat on a barrel near Johan’s to pull them on. Joey was right - the only staining that stayed was what was already on the pants, designed by Shawn and Bertrum. Bertrum, after Henry and Susie, was the most fashion oriented in the studio, in that order, and he had an eye for design in particular. “So, do you really think he’s gonna go along with all this?”

“What choice does he have?” Joey asked, raising a brow, though the ink smothering his forehead dulled the expression. He rubbed at where his neck would be, closing his eye as though the sensation was unnerving, but nothing else revealed any discomfort. A pained chuckle escaped his lips. “What other choice does he have? Tell me, Sammy, what other choice d-do we have? What other choice than hope and prayer? We’re relying on a man who avoids responsibility l-like the plague, and we’re trustin’ that he’s g-going to help us. What other choice does anyone have, now, here?”

Sammy said nothing: that was his answer in silence.

What other choice did he have?

***

“What’s going to happen to me, after he, you know,” Jack began, appearing out of the ink in front of Johan. Johan looked at him, tired. “Takes my gear?”

“And crushes your searcher body?” Joey added, tilting his head. Jack gulped and nodded, gripping the valve that he called a gear, adjusting his hat on his head. Joey knelt down to him, brushed the ink from his lips, and gave him a gentle kiss. “You’ll wake up. It’s been tested. Don’t worry, Jack. You’ll be completely fine and unharmed. And if you’d w-want somethin’ from me, for it, later….” 

Jack smiled slightly, a thumb on Joey’s cheek, though he seemed sad. 

“You say you tested it, but how?” Jack asked, taking Joey’s right hand, brushing the bandage, making Johan flinch. “You killed yourself in here?”

“I… I had Susie and Alison test the tommy gun,” Johan hesitantly replied. Jack’s brow arched. “Sorry, I… I couldn’t risk any of you a-all. I couldn’t risk you, Jack. I l-love you, a lot, you know. And everyone in the studio, I can’t risk anyone dyin’, I can’t… I can’t fail again. I can’t stand the thought of hurtin’ anyone again. I can’t d-do that. So, I tested it on me. You  _ must _ understand, I cannot f-fail. I cannot fail again, Jack.”

“Joey, you never failed,” Jack sighed, kissing his brow. “You made mistakes. It’s okay, you never failed any of us. We love you, too, especially me and the Jays. We want to see you better, and it hurts us to see you so hurt. All of us.”

Johan’s head fell, almost literally, being in its disconnected form, drooping and pained, and his body shook, sad and hurt.

“It’s okay, Joey,” Jack lied. “It’s okay. So, you say I’ll wake up once my searcher form is dead?”

“Just like in a video game,” Johan murmured, picturing the small version number on the bottom of the load up screen. 3 point 5 point 2. “Just like a video game.”

“A what the fuck?” Jack questioned, brows shooting up, looking quite comical in his ink form. “Ah, is it like a game that you play on a television?”

“Yes, precisely,” Johan smiled slightly, then hugged Jack. “Good luck, Jack. Not that you need it.”

“We're starting up soon?” Jack rhetorically asked, hugging him back gently. “Or are you going to give Willy the rundown first?”

“Wally insisted on being Boris first, to ‘get a feel’,” Johan chuckled, patting him. “Willy will be taking over in some parts of a-act three, and then all of f-four.”

“Ah, so I’m guessing he’s all prepared to the teeth,” Jack laughed, the sound rather strange in the odd environment. There was an odd vibration that ran through the world. “Here Mr. Stein comes, right?”

Johan said nothing, but nodded. 

“I’ll see you later, Joey, alright?” Jack assured him, then vanished back into the ink.

***

Henry’s head rang as the files opened. He caught sight of his axe, his seeing tool clutched in his grasp, and he picked up the weapon in his right hand. 

He had one question.

Nothing too big, not a very serious or important one.

What. The. Hell. Was going on. 

He knew Joey had the answer to that, though the fear of facing the man who he dated outweighed his want to ask him that. 

He could guess just as well, if he was being honest with himself, though he held off that small idea, and shoved it into the very back of his mind. 

Still, in his heart, there was a burning need to follow the path, as though the spirits of damnation were on his very heels, and he broke out of the room, smashing each board one at a time. 

The stairs before him, downward, burned into his vision.

_ I _

Henry walked down, slowly, axe barred, seeing tool at the ready. 

_ Always _

Nausea rose in his contemptment, and he felt old angers rise with every single step into the nightmarish abyss he took. 

_ Fall _

Even with the fear pounding in his heart, he dove ever down,  _ down,  _ **_down_ ** . 

He may have never tripped up, a perfect angel in all it’s rights, but he had, and even so, he had torn down Joey and bore him along with him into pits of desperation. 

In trying not to lose him, Henry did exactly that. How dumb could he have been? How stupid could a person be by throwing someone away to hold onto them tighter?

He was a possessive asshole, he duly and miserably noted. 

Henry added that to the list of things he absolutely had to apologize for. 

It was, admittedly, a far too long list, even just for Johan alone, not to mention any other person. He had to apologize to the entire studio, to start with, and the entire world. 

And Joey.

Henry paused right by utility shaft 9, flinching. 

Oh, Joey.

In his mind, he reiterated the thought previous.

He really was a possessive asshole. 

***

Sammy’s voice crackled from the tape recorder. 

He will set us free.

Who was he, exactly? If it was Bendy, well, Henry would smile, shake his head, and roll his eyes at such a childish idea. 

But if it was Joey, then damnit, he was a believer. 

Because Joey, hell, he was Joey Drew. 

Johan “Joey” Ramirez Drew, and Henry  _ loved _ him, with every muscle and bone in his body, though unfortunately his heart ran away with his head, and fear tackled him more than logic.

_ Can I get an amen _ ? The recorder questioned.

‘Depends who you’re talking about, first,” Henry thought to himself, hefting the axe and turning around. 

“I said, Henry,” Sammy’s voice was crisp and personal, and he found a swallow catching in his throat along with the words. “Can I get an amen?”

“Nope,” Henry whispered, adjusting his grip on the axe, holding it just a bit tighter. “No, no you may not. No amens from me, please and thank you.”

He trudged on, coming across another hall. He remembered building this hall, specifically made so that parcels could be sent down to the writer’s department on the floor below. He stepped gingerly, as the ink came well up to his knees, thick and grasping to his legs, inhibiting his walk entirely. Then, there was a figure he thought he recognized if he squinted and stood on his head.

“Hey, wait!” he croaked, realizing he desperately needed a drink of water. “Wait, hang on, can you help me? Sam-”

As he rounded the corner, expecting the door down to the writing department, he came face to face to a Bendy in a pentagram.

Old anger filled him again.

His axe embedded in its face.

Satisfied, he put the axe back over his shoulder, and walked on. 

Another blocked off doorway. He scowled, bashing the axe onto the metal, jarring his whole body with the force of the blow. 

Pursing his lips and wishing there was a better way to get out his frustration, he turned back around, heading back into the hall for the emergency override switches.

There was a damn smile looking right at him when he reentered the path.

How.

How?

_ How? _

**_How?_ **

**_HOW?_ **

His rage caused the axe to go swinging once more.

Shattering the cutout, he knelt for the switch. 

When he got back up, the cutout was whole once more.

“Die!”

Its pieces fell to the floor once more, and Henry did not bother sticking around, heading for the next switches. 

He hit the other two, and then reentered the hall, not even looking as he swatted at the cardboard cutout again, hearing the pieces clatter down for the fourth time. 

The old songs of the music department wafted up to him, and assuaged the temper that threatened to rile and boil and overflow and burn.

Sammy always did have such a way with rhythm, with patterns, with ease and bounce and relaxation, after all, it would not be Sammy without such alacrity and skill to each piece, each discordant strand melding into a perfect symphony. 

He sat in a corner and let his head fall between his knees, arms folding over the back of his neck, letting the melody swim over him, allowing himself this one comfort in Joey’s hellhole. 

Hellhole. Ha. As if it was bad for anyone but him - and only when Johan was gone. 

It was hellish without the man. Henry was no psychologist, he was a doctor, but not that kind of doctor, but he knew there was a word for how he felt toward Joey.

Dependent. 

He fought a gag, forcing himself back into the music, edging closer to the speakers on the wall. 

Henry knew that they had once been co-dependent, and Joey? Joey grew out of the vice, out of needing him, knowing that  _ he _ was needed in other places, and made sacrifices.

There was a hot, burning breath on his neck. A wolf towered behind him, feral and grinning, ready to rip into his flesh and flay him raw, screaming out what had done.

But when he looked, he was alone. Utterly, terribly, and completely alone.

Henry would rather have the wolf.

***

Henry frowned as he listened to Sammy talk about Joey.

It was almost… contemptuous. No, it definitely was, Sammy Lawrence definitely had a chord of hostility in his silky voice.

It made Henry vastly discomforted. 

What happened between them? A pipe would not nearly be enough to cause such a rift.

Was it him?

Henry?

Or Joey?

Johan was a weak man in some senses, incredibly strong in others, a good boss, a good friend. 

Henry, well, ha. Not so much. Tough as nails, but only the exterior. Inside? Oh, hoo boy. 

A bad worker, lazy student, and lousy dad to boot. And, to top it all off, unfaithful!

God, and Joey loved  _ him _ .

Him! Henry Stein!

The very thought would have made him laugh, had it not made him cry harder.

***

Henry headed over to the power switch, keeping an eye out for Wally’s keys - another recording had told him that he lost them.

And had not gotten them back for thirty years?

What happened? 

The whole place reeked of ink, of sickness. 

Henry’s stomach churned, and he hurried along, spotting Wally’s keys in a trashcan besides the power box. Pulling the switch, he heard a moan, long and drawn out, echo through the room, at first so low that he only could feel it, then loud enough that it ran over the music.

“Shit,” he muttered. Pocketting the keys he had been holding on his finger he peered into the front room of the music department, fighting against his urge to scream. A creature he had not seen for years and runs was clawing its way out of the inky puddles that bubbled and giggled, frothed and hissed, sputtering and reaching for him. 

He did not swing the axe at them. No, no, he ran around them, glad for their slowness. The keys jangled into the lock of Sammy’s office, and he slammed the door shut just as the searchers had reached, moaning and groaning, to the entryway.

Henry could swear one was calling his name. 

It was most likely a trick of noise, but he could hear, he could hear, muffled screams of ‘enry’, long and drawn out and miserable. ‘Help me, help me’, he could make out.

Oh no, oh no, he did not want to hear anymore. 

He did not know how to help them. Was this an advanced, new stage of Pathogen Ink? A mindless pain upon pains? 

The thought made him shiver, and he searched Sammy’s office. 

The damn valve was missing. 

Damnit, Jack, damnit. 

***

Henry Stein was crying. 

He was covered in ink and crying, an axe in his trembling grip, and he was crying. 

“How can I help you?” he had asked the searchers, pushing the door open a crack. They moved away from it, afraid, but excited. Anticipatory, the word had shifted through Henry’s mind, in Joey’s voice. It was a word the lanky man was rather fond of. “Can you understand me?”

“Help us,” one had then moaned, and the others pulsed in agreement. “Help us.”

“How?” Henry then pleaded, his eyes lightening with their coherence, and he had silently hoped in his heart that they could understand him. “How can I help you?”

“Shhhhow you,” the speaker wheezed. “Shhow… Henry….”

Two of the other searchers came up to it, and gripped its head.

They had slammed its head on the floor, hisses of ‘yes’ emanating with each hit. 

Henry had wanted to throw up, but when they pulled away from the searcher they had smashed, it bubbled back up, moaning in pain once more.

“Help us,” it cried, and the other two wailed. They had reached for his legs, reached for his axe, stretched, pulled. “Help us. Kill us. Kill us. Help us.”

Henry Stein held an axe and cried.

***

He found running water in Sammy’s ‘sanctuary’. He needed a place to think, to breathe, to relax, and while the sanctuary was not much, it was still something. 

Sammy mentioned Joey’s sanctuary, too.

It was one of Joey’s nicknames for Henry.

“My sanctuary of sunshine,” he would tell him, smiling. “Ray of light, angel of mine, my lovely, b-beautiful sanctuary.”

Henry, with the ghost of an orchestra playing in the room over, turned the valve. Susie and Norman’s cassettes played once more, a background of familiarity. 

It eased the aching shame burning in his heart.

***

Henry held an axe, hands soaked in ink, as warm as blood, and he cried.

***

Henry remembered the infirmary. He remembered it well.

He remembered carrying Johan to it countless times, soothing and healing him. 

Kissing it all better. Clamoring atop him to make sure he felt good, cared for.

Was it that? Henry would not deny, he had the hots for Johan, and having the man compliant and soft always shot a trill through him, to have him trusting-

Henry sat on the broken bed, dropping his head into his hands. Trusting, Joey always trusted him, no matter what, and he broke that trust.

He had to apologize. He had to go on. He had to get the valve.

***

Anything but getting the valve. Jack could keep it. No. No, no, no, not a person he could recognize, those poor searchers were far more than enough, thank you very much, never come again, pal!

Jack, even as a searcher, seemed happy as ever, hat on his head, a low rumble emitting from his chest as he mimicked humming, bobbing back and forth, the valve in his hand. 

“Hey, Jack,” Henry softly said. At first, it seemed like the searcher had not heard him, but if one looked closely, he had stopped bobbing, solemnly looking at the newcomer with dark eyes of ink. “Can I have that valve, bud? I’ll buy you a new type of coffee if you do…!”

It was a game that the two of them had played - if Jack would do something for Henry, Henry would try to find him some sort of recipe he had never tried. Henry took a cautious step forward, but Jack gurgled and bubbled back. 

“Fain, come on, just give me the valve,” Henry pleaded. He set down the axe, worried that it had frightened the once been lyricist. “Was that freaking you out? Sorry, I put it down. Is that better? Please, give me the valve. I don’t want to hurt you, and you seem happy as you are. Are you… content like that?”

Jack gurgled, lurching back. Henry trudged closer, desperate for the valve.

Jack shoved him. 

Henry’s back slammed into the cylindrical core on his left, the seeing tool flying out of his hand and crashing onto the right one a few moments.

There was a rush of air, and then Henry felt hot ink splatter across his face. 

“Jack…?”

He knew there would be no answer.

“Good thing this place used to be a sewer, huh?” he asked his dead friend, going over to a crate and throwing up behind it, shaking. “Shit, shit, shit, Jack, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Once the contents of his stomach were expelled, he slid down the crate, his salty tears clearing tracks in the black ink that splashed over his cheeks, tainting his beard. 

When he felt as though he was able to pick himself up enough to walk, he crept over to the crate, the other crate, the crate that killed Jack. 

He just participated in manslaughter. He had committed assisted suicide. 

He swallowed down the need to throw up, and picked up Jack’s hat and the valve, holding the hat to his heart, weeping to himself.

“I like your nice hat,” he whispered through his tears, hugging all that he had left of his friend, gentle so as to not bend it out of shape. Jack had always hated whenever that would happen. “Jack, I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry….”

***

Turning the valve was near impossible with how sweat ridden and shaky his hands had become. He took off his sweater to help steady himself on the metal circle. His tears made it hard to see. 

It was so hard to look, especially with Jack’s hat sitting on the infirmary bed, just waiting for him.

Still, Jack had died, been killed, and even if he did not kill him, he would absolutely make sure his death would not be in vain. He would bring him back, apologize a thousand times over, even if the small and soft bear of a man would have no idea what he was talking about. 

Once he heard the telltale click of the valve sliding in place, a quiet rush of liquid, he relaxed, picking up Jack’s hat, and the Bendy plushie that rested on the side table. 

He brought them to the organ room.

He put down Jack’s recording, his hat, and the plushie. He went out, and got Jameson’s favorite instrument, the trumpet, and some of the candles by the bacon soup, three exactly. 

One for each of the quiet and sweet gentlemen. 

He bowed his head, and cried once more as he arranged each item on the organ bench, a small happiness garnered from the fact that at least Jack, Johnny, and Jameson could be together now. He hoped that they had spent good long years together before he unleashed this hell.

***

Henry’s head hurt horribly. The last thing he remembered was heading to the stairs after he had drained them out.

There was dried blood on the back of his neck, he knew the feeling far too well, crinkling and flaking down his back as he lifted his head with a pained sound, a whine, unable to speak yet, throat aching and raw. 

He really, really needed some water.

Especially with all the fluids lost with crying and now bleeding. Bleeding! 

His head lolled in half function, half dizzy spell. 

Henry feared he would pass out again.

Again?

He remembered a dustpan, and a familiar voice. 

He had to get up, he had to escape t-

Henry found himself tied up. 

Panic took over his body.

Breathing in sharply, he exhaled slowly, taking control. 

He stiffened all his muscles, then relaxed, feeling the ropes loosen around him, and he wiggled, squirming to escape. Stiffening once more, breathing in as much as he could, they tightened- and he relaxed, pulling in his chest and stomach, they loosened.

Henry was in the middle of repeating this process when an oily slick man, he knew it was a man because he knew who it was, entered the room from a side door. Behind a mask, the skeletal man frowned, still appearing like a ghastly smile. 

“You’ve been writhing, you little sheep,” Henry almost laughed at Sammy’s words, almost commented that you could replace that word with another, and only could gasp as a knee slammed into his chest, his body going limp. Sammy tied him back again. “There we go, nice and tight….”

Henry’s ears rang and his vision throbbed, black and red swirling. 

Part of him was indignant to be called a sheep, another part found it  _ absolutely hilarious _ , especially with the idea of how well it fit. He was quite a fuzzy man, especially the curls on his head and the puffed beard on his face, and he smiled nonetheless. Since Sammy tied him when he was limp, he would have an easier time fraying the rope, which had to be old. Still, he tried not to look at the Prophet - reminded too much of a hospital room with shifting eyes, his own scream, a fainting, and a morbid curiosity too concerned to be contained.

With Sammy’s talk about setting free, his eyes lay on his axe, ink stained.

Setting free.

Setting free, here, in this world, meant death.

Henry brought death.

***

Why had Sammy panicked? 

Why would he panic for death?

Henry panted as he held back his tears, he could cry later, right now, he had to focus on staying alive and setting the poor souls trapped here free, leaning on the butt of the axe, the blade ink stained anew, the thick liquid crawling to the floor like the unhurried growth of a mushroom. 

He came into a room filled with ink, turning around and looking up. 

He grasped a barrel and pulled it, standing and jumping atop it, axe swinging through the air, singing loud and clear, ink droplets gracefully arching through the air about it. 

It was no sunlight, but hell, hell, it pulled toward him, asking where had he gone, where was he? Henry, come back, give up this useless endeavor, come back and rest.

There is no rest for the wicked, Henry thought as he forced himself to slide off the barrel, back down into the ink. There was Joey’s whistling, soft and clear as day, yet unreachable, behind a door with no knob.

He sat on its stair, on the doorstep, listening, in wonder.

When he rested enough, he noticed, was the whistling louder than before?

He backed away from the door. 

The whistling was certainly much, much, far too much louder than before.

Henry resisted the urge to clamp his hands over his ears, instead gripping the axe and tool tighter in those hardened hands. 

***

Henry barricaded the door, gasping as he took in each breath. 

That was  _ not _ his lover. 

That was no Joey. There was no way it could be Joey. 

But it was, it was, there was that same sadness in his eyes, and there was that same loping, limping gait. Same redness to that iris that the ink dripped around, same soft curve of his hair, smile similar but far too stretched.

Henry’s head pressed to the blocked door, and he wept.

“Joey? Joey,” he called, softly, hoping he could hear through the metal and wood. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry, honeybee. I’ll fix this. I’ll make things right, okay? I promise. I’m sor-”

There were footsteps behind him. He knelt, lifting his axe, hearing the roll of a can of bacon soup.

Then a familiar face - well, muzzle. 

Henry’s mouth opened slightly, surprised.

“Boris?”

The wolf smiled. 

* * *

“We’re destabilizing,” Shawn buzzed in Johan’s ear. “We’re waking you up for a recon chat.”

Johan could not answer as he felt himself disintegrate. He could not tell them he wanted to spend more time at that door, listening out for Henry. He knew he had to, though, and when his eyes (correction, eye) pried open, and he rasped, “Air, air.”

Thomas quickly made his way to Joey’s breathing apparatus, inputting the data. Johan’s vision pulsed, black and golden green swirling. Soon the dancing lights grew steady, and he focused his bleary sight on those around him. Shawn was unhooking himself, Wally on another operating bed, lips twitching in a smile. 

“He keeps beating Henry at cards,” Lacie observed from the screen. Then she lowered hir voice, and murmured to Joey, smiling, “I think Henry’s doin’ it on purpose.”

“Jeez, I wasn’t expecting him to cry so much,” one of the workers who was playing a searcher remarked, getting out of their wires. “I wasn’t expecting to have to explain to him what to do, either, honestly.”

“Did you see how upset he looked when he accidentally killed Jack?” the other side searcher asked with wide eyes. “It was like… was like he wanted to do anything to get him back.”

‘I thought the shrine he made was the saddest,’ the lead searcher signed. Johan noted the tears in her eyes, and made a mental note to ask her not to return to the bridge, at least not as a searcher. ‘It’s horrid, looking at it from his point of view.’

After the searchers were dismissed, Shawn, on a rolling chair, propelled himself to Johan. 

“We’re destabilizing!” he shouted, but not in Joey’s face. “We’re comin’ loose from the bridge, and it’s ‘cause o’ Stein getting closer.”

“So, what do we do?” Sammy asked, playing with Thomas’ flashlight, on and off like a strobe. Joey waited, wondering if he would make a suggestion, until he noticed all eyes on him.

They were asking  _ him _ . As if he were an authority, as if he knew what he was doing. As if he was not as lost and alone as Henry was. As if he were not the youngest person in the room, as if he were wise and brave and smart. 

Tears sprang, and he shivered. It turned to shaking, and his eyes lay on his computer, and he wondered how badly numerica would damage him at this moment. There already was a vast amount of it in the system, a diluted version recreated to bridge another step into the dark of the unknown. He could just add far more into his own body, and float away to a land that would not look to him as the one to set them free. Oh, the terror in his limbs. Oh, if only he could.

“Joey,” a weight shifted his operating bed. Soft arms wrapped around him, blond hair in his vision, a red dress, and pearls in soft light glinting. “Joey, you  _ are _ important and wonderful. None of this would have happened without you, none of us would be here. We wouldn’t be safe, as safe as we are right now. You don't always need to know what to do. We, all of us, and I, Susie, love you. So much.”

“Can you tell us where you are?” another gentle voice asked him, taking his hand, broad and ruddy dark. He shook his head, trying to focus on breathing, his sight pulsing in and out in sync with his fluttering lungs. “Your name, then?”

“Jo… Jo…” he felt like he was going to cry. “Jo… I… I can’t, I can’t remember, what’s my name, who a-am I, wha-”

“Joey,” the woman said, taking his face into her hands. “Joey. Your name is Johan, nickname Joey, middle name Icarus, then with two last names, Drew and Ramirez.” 

His breathing began to even. 

“R-right. Joey. Johan Ramirez,” he exhaled, shoulders detensing. “In a studio. M-my studio. Yeah. You’re Susie Campbell, and y-you’re Norman Polk.”

“That’s right, Joey,” Susie soothed. She seemed relieved, but a deep set anger was visible in her eyes to Norman. “That’s right. We’re all going to be okay, okay? For now, get some rest and use that big ol’ head of yours to think up an idea for how to stabilize, but don’t sweat it. Maybe little Linda will come up with one, maybe someone else will, but who knows. It  _ will _ be okay, though.”

“I have nothing else to g-give,” Joey whispered. Susie and Norman looked at each other. “I have n-nothing else to do.”

“You think about that, Johan,” Shawn murmured. He ushered people out of the room. Susie kept her head down as she grabbed Alison’s hand, leading her out. Shawn waited for everyone to go, and sat on the edge of the operation bed. Johan was picking at the bandage on his wrist, functional red eye trained on the lack of the digit. “Hey. Joey. Look at me.”

Johan reluctantly lifted his head. 

“You’ve given a lot more than anyone else in the world could have,” he told him firmly, his accent leaving no room for argument in his strong attitude. “Yer givin’ a man who fecked up big time a second chance. Yer fighting tooth and nail to get him back, for your kids, family, the world. Stabilized or not, we’re gonna stand by your side for ya. Ye hear?”

“I hear,” Joey sighed. Shawn touched his hand, his whole hand, to gain his attention once more. “I’ve got an idea for ye, Drew. I’m not lettin’ ye die on my watch, not at all. Not when yer so close to your goal. I ain’t lettin’ you go out with a whisper ‘cause your body can’t keep up with all the shit it’s bein’ put through. No sir. No way. I’m not lettin’ ya lose any more of yourself for this. You’re our friend, and our family, and seeing you hurt like this is more than I can bear. So, hear me out on this idea.”

Johan rose an eyebrow. 

***

The newspaper headline was absolutely  _ hilarious _ to Johan. It was not faked, per say, but the contents were untrue nonetheless. It also had a delectable irony to it, using Henry’s own creation to drive in what he had done. 

The lifeless copy of Johan was perfect, not a rush make, though the eye color was more of a maroon rather than red, but nothing the government nor coroner would be able to tell, and was unmutilated so as to throw off the scent even more. It looked like, inside and out, a corpse. 

_ Artist Found Dead at Desk from Overwork _ .

A fitting cause, Johan mused, as he read his own obituary. Shawn’s piece was a hyperbolic yell of ‘HE WAS SO YOUNG’, followed by gross sobbing (really disguised laughter). Many others refrained from comment from ‘shock’. Susie’s was touching, though, Johan decided as he sipped his tea, newspaper in front of him. To him, the best part was the fact that it was published by the very same papermill he once worked for. Will be missed, yada yada, properties and studio sold to Bertrum Piedmont, mhm, great. The question was would this fooling of the world work to align the bridge; would it stabilize them without Johan truly losing any more? 

“Are you ready? We’re just doing a test,” Alison asked him after knocking on his door. Joey looked up and nodded, wheeling after her. “Stability check. Shawn said last time we were hitting levels like fifteen and twenty five percent.”

‘We want to at least be at forty to sixty,’ Johan signed once they were in the elevator, rising. This same elevator he would be using soon, lowering. ‘That way we can ensure that when we need it, the bridge will remain functional.’ 

“Makes a lot of sense,” Alison nodded, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay, though?”

Johan hummed in his throat, and then made a sound of affirmation. Alison squeezed a bit.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she remarked. “If you ever need us, we’re here for you. Don’t ever think that we’re not.”

“Thank you,” he softly said, tilting his head to rest it on her arm. He was tired. Very tired. In the same breath, he was revitalized, and thus enervated. Awake, asleep, fastly sleeping in wake and wide awake in dreams. Rest evaded him and sleep pursued him, wide smile and ghastly breath. The hand on his shoulder shook, gentle, and he roused. “Hm?”

“We’re here. You fell asleep on the elevator, so I pushed you along the rest of the way to the operating theater,” Alison stated. She patted his shoulder, helping him wake. “Want me to help you onto the operating table?”

‘Five more minutes mom,’ he yawned, manually pulling his legs up to his chest. Alison made an indignant noise in the back of her throat. Johan smiled as sleep overtook him once more. He was reawoken a few minutes later. His voice croaked as he spoke. “What?” 

“Test time!” Susie cheerfully told him. “Are you ready, Joey?”

“You an’ Ali are way t-too chipper for this,” Johan grumbled. “What’s in it for ya anyways?”

She and Susie glanced at each other, expressions denoting quite a bit of surprise. 

“We just want to help you, Johan,” Alison remarked, “and it is hard for you. We thought a more general positive attitude would help.”

“O-oh,” Johan blinked, and blushed. “I see.”

“Are you all ready?” Thomas asked, walking in with a smile, trying not to flinch at the sight of all the bandages covering Johan. He pulled gloves over his hand, and Shawn’s toolbelt on his hips - just borrowing it for a prank and or bet. Shawn wanted to see how indignant Willy and Wally would get over it, and see how they would hash it out. Johan nodded, and Thomas assisted him onto the flat bed. It was not the most comfortable thing, but it was not  _ un _ comfortable. Especially not with Thomas adjusting all the gear around him. “Since this is a simple test, there won’t be any need for… additional trauma.”

Shawn’s voice came in as Johan’s eyes closed.

“Three two one.”

Clap.

***

Johan yawned and stretched as he woke up. He felt… nice. Like he actually had… slept. It must have been the best sleep he had gotten since Henry left. 

“How ya feelin’, sleepin’ beauty?” Shawn asked with a broad grin. “You were  _ out _ like a wee baby.”

“Really?” he yawned. Jameson knocked on the door with his head poking in, smiling when he saw Joey awake. “Hey, JJ.”

“This lil’ feller’s been checkin’ on ye every ten minutes,” Shawn’s grin broadened as he headlocked Jameson to ruffle his hair, the (somehow) paler man shoving him back with a pout that earned a small laugh from Johan, which made him perk up. “Missing his boyfr- OOF!”

Jameson had rammed his elbow into Shawn’s stomach, a greyish blush on his cheeks. He helped Johan into his wheelchair after he and Lacie carefully removed all the wires from Johan, Shawn, Susie, and Alison. Norman had not entered, being they were only running a test. 

“We were hitting one hundred forty four percent stability,” Lacie informed Johan. “So we should be good for the real thing. Now, just where do you think you two girls are goin’?”

Susie and Alison froze, Susie’s hand on Alison’s leg, both blushing at having been caught. 

“Um,” Alison stammered, turning darker. “We thought that was all we were needed for.”

“Yeah,” Susie nodded, her hand closing, the one on Alison’s leg going to take the japanese woman’s hand. “We finished our run through, right? A teaser for Henry?”

“They’re dismissed,” Joey whispered, falling back asleep, though he was not exactly tired. It was the sleepiness that overtook one after a particularly good rest. He knew he was being pushed up to the elevator, rising up to his floor, and gently placed into bed, a cool but soft body slipping in beside him. When he re-awoke, Jameson was already gone, yet a mug of still hot tea was on his side table atop a book. Curious, he picked both up, smiling to see the title of Faust. Flipping it open, he saw Henrik’s scribbly handwriting, telling him to enjoy it.

It had been a good deal of time since Johan had read anything in German, and the poetry of Faust, fitting and smooth, relaxed him greatly. To be a eighteenth century scientist whisked away by the devil… or a twentieth century doctor drawn back to earth by a demon. Either way, the book did an excellent job of settling his nerves. 

That is, until he had to return to the bridge.

Still, he felt more hopeful than he had in ages, with Linda pushing his wheelchair to the elevator, and going down to his operating table. 

Even as his chest was opened and mouth covered, he felt much better.

Things were starting to look up. 

He smiled as Shawn clapped them in.

***

Henry’s bones and joints ached. Sleep had not replenished the hydration he had lost. 

Sight wavered, throat scratched, and limbs burned.

Still, he pushed himself off the cot. 

Boris sat, the cards they had played with in a neat stack, at the table. Henry waved at him, noticing the lever in his hand. 

“Bribing me to get out?” Henry asked, smiling with a tad of exhaustion. He felt at his belt for the axe that had once rested there, before recalling it had broken when he was running from the demon that had the form of his… of Joey. Boris tossed the lever in the air, snatching it out right when Henry attempted to catch it. Henry rose an eyebrow. “Not letting go of that lever, huh?”

Boris shook his head.

Henry sighed.

“That’s fine. Hey, how about I make you a soup? Would you trade it then?”

After a moment of thought, Boris nodded. Henry felt the slightest of smiles crack onto his far too dry lips. Licking them did nothing. After finding a can of soup, he flipped it around for the expiration date, and found it to be some time in the two thousands. It should be fine to eat.

He found two more cans, reasoning one each would not be enough for both himself and a wolf. There was a small paraffin stove, and the wax to keep it burning was underneath it. He started it up with no trouble, and there was a metallic basin for the soup to go into. Once the apparatus was warm enough, he pulled the tab to open the can, and poured it within. Boris looked over at him, and he waved, trying to calm himself down. Fear riddled his spine, addled his mind. 

The soup neared a boil. He shut off the stove, and reached for his sweater to take the food from off the fire - before noticing that Sammy had dragged him off before he could put it back on. Scowling, he took a different cloth, and thus poured the soup into two different bowls. 

They ate in silence. 

The soup settled with an oddly heavy weight. It was not very hydrating, Henry gloomily noted, being that the salt in it outmatched the water. Still, it was just barely enough to stop the trembling in his hands.

After Boris’ bowl was drained, he lifted the toolchest in which he had stowed away the lever. Henry, mid mouthful, only nodded, and continued eating. Boris picked up his flute and played for a bit, soothing Henry. Music always touched his heart. It always relaxed him. He hardly could tell when he finished eating, as the bowl was empty and his stomach was full, but where had the time gone?

It did not matter. What mattered was that he was all done and cleaned, the mirror too foggy to take in the appearance of anything, if it even was a mirror, and his sweater somewhere in the music department, axe broken, and without any clear idea what to do aside from the simple thought of getting out of this safehouse, into the nightmare. He had to fix what he had done. 

He unlocked the tool chest with the simple combination of four - one - four, and slotted the lever into its place. Still, he decided not to leave just yet, finding another chest, opened with eight - three - one. There was a bone in it. He smiled, trying not to think where on earth such a bone could have come from. He tossed it to Boris, who caught it in his mouth, grinning. It put a smile onto Henry’s drawn face as well. 

“You ready to head out, Boris?” Henry asked him, hand on the lever. Boris did not answer him. “Me neither.”

***

Henry instantly wanted to return to the embrace of the safe house. He turned to Boris.

“Are you a Beetles fan?” he asked him instead of, ‘Hey, turns out I’m a coward, want to head back to the safe house, roll over in bed, and avoid all forms of responsibility?’

Boris just blinked at him. 

“Okay.” Henry turned to the door behind them, and closed it tightly. No turning back. He let the tension in his shoulders go, and stepped forward. The light around them dimmed, slower and thicker, until there was a point Henry could not see two inches in front of his face. Boris refused to move any further, and Henry was prone to agreeing with him on that. “I’ll find a light.”

Entering the darkness, even with a flashlight on hand, was still terrifying.

He found Boris’ hand. 

“Stay close,” Henry murmured. “You’ve been here a lot longer than I have, so I don’t think you’d get lost. But I don’t want to lose you, so please… don’t be scared. We’ve got this as long as we stay together. I’m learning that the hard way, huh. Sorry. I’m rambling about this. Let’s move from here, come on.”

They came to a dead end. 

“Well.”

Boris pointed at his flashlight.

“You want this?” Henry questioned, handing it to him after he nodded. Then he pointed at a vent. Henry knelt and pried the grate from the wood. “Good luck, Boris. I trust you.”

Boris signaled for him to close the vent behind him, to stop anything else that could try to approach him. Henry waited, in fear. Oh, god, he was afraid. Oh, god, he was alone, oh, god, he wanted a drink of water. Just water. That would be heavenly.

Just some water. 

Just a little water.

The door slowly creaked open. 

“Hell, great, a haunted house,” he mumbled. Then he took in his surroundings and groaned, the conditioned response of covering his ears jerking his hands. “ _ Great _ . Heavenly Toys. Good thing there aren’t any irish bas-”

“I don’t be seein’ what the big deal is,” Shawn’s voice, crackling from a recorder on a shelf just out of Henry’s reach, boomed. He groaned. “So what if some o’ th-”

Henry threw a giant plushie onto the shelf, smothering Shawn’s loud voice. 

“Hey! I was talkin’!” Shawn complained. Henry tried not to groan or look too relieved, and then he ended up looking like he had walked into a surprise party, however got smacked in the face. Turning around in a circle, he tried to determine where on earth the man’s voice came from. It seemed like it was coming from everywhere, ambient and encompassing. Henry paused in his steps when the Flynn spoke once more. It rumbled deep in his chest, not quite in his hearing. Definitely far more felt than heard. “Eh, ye ain’t gonna find me. Not today, at least. Still, er, the gears are just a mite clogged, just so you know. Maybe you can do somethin’ smart about it, fer once. Well, that’s all from me. See you round, doc.”

“Wait! Shawn!” Henry yelled, but there was no answer. Henry’s shoulders slumped as he sighed, his head falling in his frustration. “Why is it that when I want you to talk, you’re gone?”

_ Sounds like someone familiar, hm? _ his mind supplied for him in a quiet reprimand, forcing him to fight a rather sharp cringe.  _ A certain doctor? Death? What part of ‘til death do we part’ did you take so badly for granted? Or was it that you thought that death would let you escape from  _ **_him?_ **

‘Still,’ he argued back, ‘It was an honest mistake.’

_ Was  _ **_it_ ** _ an ‘honest mistake’, too? _

Henry did not answer himself. 

Why would he want to?

It was not a question he would even be able to answer - because the copy, sure, yes, absolutely, it was wrong of him to have made. He never should have. As for that other matter that stemmed from  _ it _ , how could he have known? What would he have done differently? Had fewer glasses?

Henry was not a mechanical person. He never bothered with machinery, unless he absolutely had to do something about it, like the x-ray he repaired. Repairs, that’s what he did. And luckily for him, repairs were what were needed at this time. That was fine. Everything was fine. There was no need to be worked up about anything, no need to cry. Goddamnit, you’re a grown man. 

He grabbed a plushie. It was his now. There was no one to tell him otherwise. So now he had a plushie to keep him company. 

There was a faint smell of petrichor in the air. 

He pulled it into his lungs, breathing long and hard. He had to move on. Not from what he had done, but from his location. 

A theme he remembered far too well whispered as he entered the next room. Shivers crawled up and down his back, the door slamming shut behind him, refusing to budge even as he rammed his shoulder into it repeatedly.

“I’m. Alice. Angel!” 

The woman behind the glass was someone he knew. 

But she was no angel. 

There was a twisted grin on her face, a manic ferocity in her eyes, a laceration sliced deep and sharp down her arm, and her face, her face! Where was the darling Alice he adored? This was not his daughter. No, this was a masquerade of her. Her voice was too many, her determination in her eyes too sharp, the anger too righteous.

There was a syringe in her hand, and shattered glass crumpling to his feet, and Henry backed away, and away, and away, and into the door, and she approached. 

He looked up at Alice. 

“Don’t you remember me?” she asked, a sweet pout on her face, hooked fingers playing with the tip of the shot. There was a sickly green liquid in the vial. Henry swallowed and nodded, watching it slowly twist and churn. “You seem stressed, Henry.”

“I think you would be stressed, in my situation, too,” he replied dryly. Alice laughed at him, causing a wince to run through him. “What?”

“Oh, Henry,” she smiled at him, but there was no warmth in that smile. None. That was the smile he had seen on Diane when he told her their relationship had to end. That was the smile of a woman who had seen herself scorned. He tried to back away more, but he had already come to a dead end. “Here. This will relax you. Don’t worry. Don’t worry at all, my little errand boy.”

The indignancy that tremored through him at being called ‘little’ or an ‘errand boy’ could not compare to the shock of the needle that pierced through his shirt and skin. Henry yelped, jumping away, only ramming his arm onto the door. Then, it was over. The green liquid was gone from its container, and Henry knew it was injected - not into his bloodstream, thankfully, but it was in his system nonetheless. It was a deepset horror that turned his knees weak.

“What did you do to me?” Henry asked, still jarred by the action. There would definitely be a bad bruise where Alice had jabbed him. She only smiled - the lights flashed - and she was gone. Anxiously, he examined the wound, cursing at the fact that the ‘angel’ had vanished. “ALICE!”

This interaction may or may not have caused his choice. 

There was a crossroad that he came to shortly after, rubbing his arm. 

Angel or Demon.

He saw no reason to choose the Angel path. 

Henry was no angel.

Rather demonic, in this sense. 

Seeing what the angel had done to him, he was  _ not _ looking forward to another needle being stuck into him without his permission. Or knowing what the hell it was. 

And, in taking the demon path, he promised - he would stay by Johan’s side no matter what. Never again would he take a path he knew would tear them apart. 

It was dark and depressing. Empty. Sad. There was a tape, though, one that Henry eagerly snatched up. Pressing play, he leaned back to listen to the voice of the man that offered to be his husband, in his showman’s voice, poking at a blob of ink that shifted form each time he touched it, no matter how gently he did so. 

Positively silly.

Oh, Joey.

He left the room with the ink machine on the table in miniature form. 

Promptly he ran into a small heart attack, a cutout popping into his sight, Boris trailing it moments later. Boris smiled at him, and he mustered up a smile in return, rubbing his arm once more as a pain ran through it. Boris’ smile faded, and he pointed at the mark with concern. 

“Yeah, had a run in with the resident ‘angel’,” he muttered. “Got anything we could use to fight?”

Rummaging in his tool chest, Boris pulled out two gent pipes, and tossed one to Henry. He swung it around to see how well it worked, and while it was nothing special, it would do. They went on, coming across a dual lever door. The first lever was close, and Boris stuck by it. Henry nodded. 

“You stay by this lever,” he agreed, “Stay safe. I’ll go find the other.”

***

So much regret. 

Had Charlie been telling him to hit him? 

Oh, god, oh god, he needed to throw up.

He retched in the hole the now dead ink creature had torn itself from.

Pulling the lever, Henry joined Boris, covered in ink and feeling sick. He grabbed the seeing tool from the other side of his belt, opposite the hot pipe. 

Where was he? Where was his reflection?

He continued.

***

How did the elevator still work?

For real, how the hell did the elevator still work?

Even as Alice ranted to them over the intercom, Henry’s mind remained fixated on the question as to how the elevator still worked. 

He waited for it to come up, Boris sitting on a couch aways away. 

“Such a perfect Boris you’ve got there,” Alice’s voice hummed over the speaker. “And much more perfect things. I’m sure that you would certainly be able to figure out how to put them all to use in service of your angel.”

“Mhm.”

“Come to floor nine, Henry,” she remarked soothingly. “You’ve got a date with an angel.”

Henry bit back the retort he bore on his tongue. He rubbed at his arm once more. Whatever she had given him… well, it did what she said it would. He was much calmer, now. Less frightened. Relaxed. A part of him was grateful, another part fearful, but overall hopeless. He never was the hopeful sort, that would be Joey’s forte. Henry was impulsive and thoughtless. 

That was probably why he was on an elevator going down to a woman who had stabbed him with a literal syringe. 

Thomas, at least, agreed with him on the question as to how the Hell the elevators were working. They did not even work while the studio was still up and running, so why, and how, in heaven’s name were they working now?

There were two couches set up near the elevator on floor nine. One had a bone painted over it, and the other had an inkwell.

“You two have earned a rest for coming all this way,” Alice told them, still hidden away. “So, feel free to take one. I may not be so generous, later.”

Boris looked at Henry, pleadingly and tiredly. Henry sighed and nodded, reaching up on his toes to pat his head. 

“We can nap, if you want,” he told him. Boris nodded, and went to the bone marked couch, curling up happily. A blanket dropped onto him from the ceiling. Soon, Boris was asleep, but Henry was not, standing in the middle of the room in silence. There was a rattling noise from a dispenser device, and he rose a brow, walking towards it. “What’s this?”

“Thought you might want another taste of the angel’s medicine,” Alice crooned, soft so as to not wake Boris, as Henry picked up the syringe. Same greenish brown liquid. “Of course, I could always administer some things in sleep. If you do it yourself, well, you know you’re a doctor.”

Henry swallowed sharply. He lay on the mattress, holding the syringe. He tossed it to the other side of the room. So what if it had calmed him? He needed the fear, he needed the focus. 

A blanket drifted down to him, too, and he looked up at the dark expanse above his head. 

The blanket was homemade, croqueted. The stitch was familiar to him, and Henry pulled it around himself tightly, inhaling cinnamon and honey. 

It was almost like home. So close, yet so far. However, even at home, Henry doubted that he would allow himself to sleep on the same bed with Joey. So couch it would be then, too. 

That would be fine with Henry, just as long as Joey was there with him. Even in the room over.

But tonight, he slept with Alice watching over him, quite a gal. 

***

His arm stung when he woke up.

Looking at it, the initial puncture had, in fact, bruised, while a second, new one, seemed like it had been injected just over an hour ago. Henry groaned. So, the spine crawling injections would not be his choice. Just like everything else here. Still, he got up, stretching, curiously finding that all of his body, aside from the fresh bruises, felt incredibly invigorated and refreshed. 

“I see you’re up and ready to go, errand boy,” Alice crackled through the speakers. “Follow the screams, now. You’re only by a depository. There are a few scattered about the studio. Come along, Henry.”

He shook Boris awake, gently, and obediently, he listened. Boris went ahead of him, sprinting, and Henry let him. Crossing the threshold, he was not sure what he was expecting to see. 

Boris turned to look at him, slow as a rusted gate that had not been touched for decades. 

Henry turned, left, right, then looked into the mass of ink that lay underneath the floorboards. 

Boris pat his back as he coughed, tears in his eyes as he shook over the abyss. 

So much death. So much corruption. He could hear Susie’s voice, he could hear her talking about a time she and Joey were ‘together’ when he called her ‘Alice’, and Henry’s heart sank, deep down into his now empty once more stomach. Oh, this was all so very, very wrong.

Follow the screams.

***

Henry felt like he was walking into an exam he did not study for. There was screaming, hoarse, pained, mindless. He inched in, bit by bit. An eye fixed on him, a grinning maw with a fleshless nose, Alice’s second face trained on his, watching his slow yet steady approach.

To see another Charlie being tortured by  _ her _ was hell. Well, then again, this whole place was hellish, his own little slice of purgatory. He, at first, missed his wolf companion, but then was glad Boris did not come with him, seeing that he wanted to pull a brave face in front of him.

Especially when she stepped up on the banister, picking up another syringe, resting the tip on her knee, Henry pointedly looking at the floor to keep from glancing up her skirt. 

“Care for another dosage?” she inquired, smiling, and before he knew it the needle was on the side of his face, brushing away curls and catching in his beard, lifting his head up and away from the end instinctually. His throat scratched against it as he swallowed, and she chuckled. “So shy.”

“I’m pretty sure that no one would appreciate getting a shot without their knowledge or choice,” Henry retorted, glaring at her. Her one whole eye sparkled malevolently. He gulped once more. The syringe trailed down to his arm, where his sleeve had been rolled up. It traced the line of the folded cloth. Her eyes were contemplative, ensnaring. It made Henry’s skin crawl. “What?”

“It’s cute that you think you have any control,” Alice sighed, smilingly. He shivered, frowning behind his beard. “You know that even if you say yes or no, here, only one thing matters. The will of the Demon.”

“And what about you?” Henry asked, trying not to look at the glint of the thin metal by his skin. “Are you a subject to his will, or a power beyond?”

“I follow his rules, I won’t slip up and let him dare touch me again,” she scoffed, then grinned once more. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t make my own, though. And you are to follow them, errand boy. Understood?”

“What if I don’t?” he challenged. This hell was grating on his nerves. “Because I certainly don’t feel like being anyone’s ‘little errand boy’, least of all yours.”

“Here, what you want matters least of all,” she replied. Henry fought a scowl, knowing she was completely correct. Alice leaned toward him, still smiling, and he backed up, away from that needle at last. She rose a questioning brow. “Why so shy? Surely a bit of gentleness would be appreciated by you?”

“Back off,” he growled. “I’m taken.”

“I don’t see a ring,” Alice pointed out. Henry instinctually put his hands behind his back. Laughter emanate from her once more. “So shy, so angry, so paradoxical.”

“Shut it,” he grumbled. “I made a stupid decision. I’m trying to fix it. You’re not exactly making it any easier, Miss Alice.”

“That’s what my medicine’s there for,” she crooned. “A shot to help the sludge and bitter ink go down better.”

Henry only grit his teeth as she gave him the injection. What else could he have done? 

Her will was an ever tightening embrace.

And he was naught but a subject.

Her little errand boy.

***

Damn spare parts. Why could she not go and get them herself? Henry knew why she would not, and still resented her for it. At the same time, whatever she was putting in him, well, it evened out their little spat. He felt invigorated, refreshed, and tackling the tasks she was putting him to were not much trouble. Of course, his stomach still churned with every time he had to set one of  _ them _ free, his eyes still burned with every feeling of hot hot ink, and then he saw  _ him _ .

He was at the end of the hall, head tilted at an unnatural angle, looking straight at Henry, tendrils of ink swirling and beckoning, yet also jabbing and warning. Henry took a step back, then a step forward. The ink demon stalked two closer, and Henry felt like he was drowning. Turning tail, he ran. He ran into a little miracle station, and prayed for one. 

The Ink Demon turned away, and vanished down the hall.

The lights flickered, and Henry sank against wood.

God, he was a coward.

***

“Don’t let the door hit you on your way up,” Alice’s told him over the intercom. Henry’s hands shook as he picked up the last gear from Charlie’s melting hand. “That means to watch for the Demon, you dolt.”

Henry swallowed down bile. He had more work to do. Boris was waiting for him, and he leaned into him even as he trembled, the wolf giving him a hug and concerned look. 

“It’s nothing, Boris,” he tried to assure him, his smile unable to stick. “Just a bit shaken up, is all.”

After putting away the wrench, Henry was given a core extractor. 

“They’re on floor P, darling,” Alice told him, swiping a finger down the side of his face, gathering some of the ink that had gathered on him. She licked it off, making his stomach rile. “Do hurry. Oh, and before you go….”

***

Henry’s arm was starting to hurt less and less from the frequent shots. He would have rather injected them himself, but he was the Angel’s servant, and she was gracing him with this elixir of vitality and energy. So he left to the floors she desired, in hopes to appease her and to please her. 

The cold, dead ink felt like heated pins and needles against his nerves, every sense heightened. 

Each fiber in his muscles twitched with readiness. 

And the cold burned like suns.

***

Hell. Hell. Hell. This was hell. All of it. Every minute. Every second. Every single damn drop of ink, every single quiet splash, every pool and puddle he came across. The core extractor was a near useless tool, forcing him to hide, all the more cowardly, not only from the demon that stalked his mind and footsteps, but also from the other things that resembled his creations -  _ their _ creations. They had shared everything. They shared their lives. Yet, out of fear and desperation, Henry had thrown it all away, because of his cowardice.

So now. Now. Now, he had to face his fears.

He had to face what he had done. 

He was Henry Stein, and he was going to fix what he had done. 

No matter what he had to do. No matter how hard it was. No matter how Alice made herself into his temptress. No matter how his sins crawled on his back and clawed at his legs, begging to be set free. No matter how the Ink Demon trailed him, silent, smiling, sad.

He would right his wrongs. Set straight the path he twisted. Return the wings he stole.

Atlas bore no wings. Icarus built his own.

Henry would fix what he had done.

He would fix it.

He would fix it all.

No matter what.

***

Henry, even with Alice’s twisted dosages, was exhausted. An uncomfortable warmth had decided his skin was the perfect dwelling place, and thus he bore the heat. He had spent too much of the day running and hiding, and though he was sick of it, he could do naught but hide, no matter how badly he wanted to run into the open and allow Joey to do as he saw fit. Alice tossed down to him another loaded syringe, the last night (day? week? month? He had lost any and all sense of time in this hellscape) a warning. Boris looked alarmed at the sight of it. Henry shook his head, kicking away the syringe. 

“I’m not going to take it,” he assured him, heading into the elevator to sleep, along with the wolf following at his footsteps. “Even though she’ll probably give it to me in the night.”

Boris whined, questioning.

“She gave me one yesterday night, yeah,” Henry told him with a yawn. “I don’t know what it is. All I know is that it woke me up a bit.”

Boris curled around him protectively.

“Thank you,” Henry told him, from the depth of his heart, eyes itching a bit with tears, hugging him over his shoulders. “So much.”

***

Shawn’s voice came buzzing in Johan’s ear, the demonic man resting near the elevator. 

“Wills is tellin’ me Susie and Alison ain’t sticking to the script,” he remarked, worried. “Somethin’ about a syringe.”

“Did Wally note anything?” Johan instantly woke up from his half asleep reverie. After a moment, Shawn returned to his ears with a positive. “Well, what?”

“Henry’s been more energetic, but still shaky - still throwin’ up, too.”

“Anything else?”

“Havin’ trouble falling asleep; even though he’s butt tired.”

“We’ll let this slide for a bit, b-but if any other symptoms show,” Joey said slowly, “Then we’re gonna have to d-deal with this. We need Henry back, we can’t push him away.”

“Confirmed, will keep an eye on Alise.”

“Did ya say her name with an ‘s’?” Johan asked, noting the catch and drawl. Shawn confirmed. “Why?”

“Cause she’s Ali and Susie.”

“Ah,” Joey blinked, and smiled a tad, just a hint of wryness in the expression under the flowing mask of ink. “Thank you. F-for the report and for clarifying.”

“No problemo, boss,” Shawn’s wide and wisecracking smile was evident in his voice. “Just doin’ my part.”

***

When Henry woke up, the warmth he had been feeling since Alice’s first prod was rising to an unbearable heat. Flashes of memories and thoughts surged through his head, the cold sweat on his limbs aching and burning. Echos and whispers of intimacy, of touching hands and smiling lips and flashing eyes. His breathing jumped sharply against his diaphram, his heart hammering in his chest. 

Oh, no.

He could not work like this. He needed to talk to someone. Preferably not Boris. But who else? Alice was likely well aware of his plight. 

Stumbling out of the elevator, he threw up in a nearby garbarge bin. 

“Feeling a little sick, errand boy?” Alice inquired, leaning over a banister, her syringe in hand. “Need another drop of medicine?”

Henry shook his head, and threw up more bile. 

“Fine. Take this, anyways.” she tossed an empty syringe down at him once more, and he caught it with a deft, but shaking, hand. “Get me some extra thick ink from those bloated searchers. You know the ones. Like our friend, Jack. Oh, my, you’re looking pale. Are you sure you don’t want another little dose?”

“Certain,” he rasped around the acidity in his throat. Alice scowled, and swung down to him, knocking him over with a swift kick to his chest, high heel pressing against his sternum as he lay dazed on the floor. “Wait, stop, Alice!”

“Listen here you little spoiled brat,” she hissed, leaning close to his face, the stiletto of her heel digging between his ribs. “If you even think for a second that I don’t know what you’ve done, you’re dead wrong. If the demon did not say so, I would have ripped your pathetic body to shreds. So be a good boy and take your damn medicine.”

Henry made no further protest as her needle sank into his skin. 

***

Boris’ concern was plain as day. Henry waved it off, holding the syringe at arm’s length. Soon it would be over. They would be out of there. Out of the Angel’s domain. Not too long until the flames in his skin would die.

Not too long.

He would make it. 

Just a bit longer.

***

Henry gasped and writhed as hot ink splashed onto his face. It burned into each nerve, stinging tears to his eyes. The searcher faded easily, essence sucked into the small, deadly object Henry’s hands held.

He shook. Every nerve was on fire, every hair on its end, his clothes rubbing too harsly on sensitive skin. It was all wrong, it was all off. He had to talk to someone, he had to talk to Johan, but he had no idea how to. How to approach him, how to talk to him, how to… apologize.

God, he messed up. Brutally. Awfully. Terribly. But he needed his help now. And he would have to get his courage to get his help. Henry knew that even if Joey was mad, even furious, at him, he would still help.

Only problem was figuring out how to find him, now.

***

“There we go, my little errand boy,” the puncture was covered with a kiss, Henry scrubbing away the black mark as soon as he could. Relief was filling him, along with guilt, and fear. The angel’s shots made things better - yet at the same time, made them all the worse. “Here’s an axe. Get rid of those grinning demons for me, please.”

“The cutouts?” Henry clarified, hefting its familiar weight. Only one grinning demon was filling his thoughts, ragging his breath, jostling his heart. He needed to talk to him. It was growing more and more unbearable. Alice hummed in affirmation. Henry tried to swallow down the saliva that seemed to keep rising in his throat. “Alright.”

Earlier, she had given him a gun - and seemed shocked that it lasted in his hands. Henry wished it did not. Well, he could not talk to Norman now; if the man had crossed his mind as he tried to discover what to do.

The projectionist lay in the sweeping embrace of ink pooled at the depths in floor K. 

Riddled through with Henry’s own weapon. 

Oh, he remembered holding that Tommy gun. He remembered when it was issued to him. It was one of the half million made in 1942. Nothing special - in a war. 

But against one man? One deaf, blind man?

Henry did not want to think.

He cried, so hard, Boris had to get him and lead him out from the ink, away from Norman’s body.

And now, as he avoided his thoughts - of mines and guns and death and fire and caresses and humanity and heat - he held the axe tight, wiped his tears, and made off to cut down the cutouts.

Henry broke three. That was when it happened - when Alice made that remark, that was clearly meant to scare him, but only brought a spark of hope into his mind. He was desperate, worried, and needed the thoughts that plagued him to get out of his head. He had to stop thinking about nights with Joey, the touch of his lips on his chest, and with that the thought came again and his breathing stuttered, and he forced himself to focus, he had to  _ focus _ . He needed to plead for help, not let himself be led around half drugged - or was he fully narcotized? FOCUS, Stein! You are a goddamn doctor, get acting like one! You have focused in far worse situations!

He breathed, clearing his mind to a blank page, and let his hope lighten the paper with gold.

Joey would be coming to find  _ him _ .

He axed a cutout, then waited for Joey. That self same fear, but also, driving force, tore at his mind and made him take one step forward, and two back. Johan, the Ink Demon, Joey,  _ the love and light of his life _ , walked toward him, and he stayed where he stood.

He trembled, mouth opening, silent.

Then, the word he had always acted on, but never said, always hid, never spoke, always used, never gave, fell from his lips.

“Help me.”

***

They were in a Little Miracles station, but to Henry, the miracle was massive, huge enough to make him cry once more, though his body ached with the loss of liquid. 

“Joey, I need help,” Henry whispered. The ink demon nodded, smile thoughtful, ink dripping in worry, eye glinting. “Alice… the angel… she’s been pricking me with something. I don’t know what it is. At first, it made me feel good. Invigorated. Now… now I can’t stop thinking about you. And it’s wrong of me to do so. I… I can’t think of you like this right now. Not in this situation.”

‘Understandable,’ Johan nodded. ‘I will deal with her. Any other symptoms?’

“Vomiting, sweating, heat,” Henry listed off, and trailed off. “Need. Want. You. I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

‘I am afraid that it will be in your system for a bit,’ Joey frowned, and Henry could see the man he rejected to be his husband in his face. ‘I will arrange for retribution.’

“Thank you,” Henry murmured, and reached for his hand. Electricity passed through them, bringing them both to shiver, but it was not unpleasant; rather the contrary. “For everything. Especially for this chance. I’m… I’m so sorry I broke my promise. I should not have gone to war. I’m sorry, Johan.”

‘We will see about forgiveness at a later date. For now, please pause.’

***

It took barely any investigation. They clearly thought they would not be caught. Thank heavens for Willy and Wally. 

Joey, holding the small capsule containing the brownish green poison in a fist, returned back to Henry with a frown. Henry’s head was tilted back, face pinkened with the thoughts racing that he tried so badly to quell. Joey’s heart ached for him. His knees were tucked up, and his arms held them tight to his chest. Joey, voice scarcely available to him, knocked gently upon the door to gain Henry’s attention. His attention included his bright eyes, like the aura of the earth, fastening onto him, face lighting up. 

“What news?” he asked, trying not to appear too anxious. Joey explained swiftly, using his voice softly and carefully, and Henry’s jaw dropped in horror. “No! Not that!”

Johan confirmed it was.

“I’m going to be miserable for the next day, then, too,” Henry sadly slumped. Johan debated, then knelt to him, removing his hands from his face, gentle and cautious. “Johan….”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Joey whispered, his smile lopsided and sweet. Henry’s face looked both hopeful, yet so torn. “We’re gonna g-get out of this. Together.” 

***

Alison and Susie were groggy when they were awoken. Their eyes opened to disapproving faces, all looking towards them.

Worst of all was the wrath that clearly was written over Joey’s face.

“What?” Susie hotly questioned, folding her arms. “Why’d we cut out in the middle?”

“It is I who will b-be asking the ‘what’s,” Johan rumbled. Both Susie and Alison shrank back. Extending his hand, Joey proffered the capsule. “What, pray tell, is this?”

“Oh, um,” Susie stammered, as her makeup became stark on her face when she paled. “It’s… well, it’s bindii extract, Joey.”

“I know that,” Joey informed her. “I want to know why you were injecting it into Henry.”

Alison and Susie looked at each other.

“To test him,” Alison muttered. “To remind him of what he had done.”

“Is this not a test!?” Johan resounded, gesturing at the machinery around them, then at his body. “Is this not a reminder?! Do you kick a man when he is down!? No! You might think you’re punching him, but you are punching him while he is on a rickety ladder! It was wrong! Alison, why did you not stop her, and Susie…” Johan’s face sealed in sadness and hurt, “Susie, what the everloving  _ hell _ were you thinking?”

“He hurt you,” Susie replied, though was chastised, cheeks warm, eyes wet, blinking rapidly. “But, you’re right. It was wrong. I just… I just hated seeing you so sad, and seeing Henry! Damn Henry who hurt you!? Who made you sad?! I just… I couldn’t. I couldn’t stand by. And I’m sorry.”

“You are forgiven,” Joey said, eyes softening from the flashing lightning storm they had been. “Though I expect you  _ both  _ to apologize to Henry when all this is o-over.”

“For you, Joey?” Susie smiled, hugging him tightly. “Anything.”

***

The angel was firmly upbraided. Henry was glad when she informed him over the intercom that he could spend the rest of his time cutting the cutouts at his leisure. Which, of course, he did not bother doing, instead curling up in the Little Miracle station where he had been and dreamt once more of Joey. The heat had yet to die in his skin, but it was much quieter without the constant flow of the angel’s drug. 

He woke to a knock on the door of the Station, and opened it to a grinning demon.

Joey beckoned he follow.

***

A shower.

A shower, with hot, running water.

Clean water. 

Cleaner than he ever had in his life. 

Sure, it was in the women’s bathroom, but who the hell cared in the first place? Not anymore, at least, when no one bothered with appearance. Ink was ink - dark, unchangeable. 

His clothes were cleansed of stains, smelling of cinnamon and honey, and with fresh water, Henry cried.

Joey was nowhere to be found. 

But now, Henry thought, smiling, hefting the axe over his shoulder, he knew how to find him.

Rather, how to make Joey find him. 

Either worked perfectly fine.

***

Henry tackled Joey into a Little Miracle station the moment he rounded the corner to check on the cutout. 

“Thank you,” he gratefully told him, gently squeezing round his middle. “For the shower. It was a good retribution.”

“That wasn’t what I meant b-by ‘I’ll make it up to you’,” Johan remarked, raising a brow. “Even if it was an aspect of it.”

“What more could you do for me?” Henry asked, bewildered. “It’s all that I needed.”

Susie’s voice came over the communication system.

“You destroyed four cutouts. That’s all I needed. Come on back up.”

Henry looked at Joey, and released him from the embrace. 

“Let’s walk and talk,” he suggested, and Joey nodded. They did one of those things - walked over and into the elevator, Boris tilting his head as he looked at them, then pointed at the stairs. “You’re going to walk? Ok, have it your way.”

“I don’t think he’d like to be around me,” Johan chuckled, deep in his chest, and the remainder of the bindii in Henry surged a blush to his cheeks. That was what Henry wanted to think, in that moment. Silence reigned supreme in the elevator from then. 

Until Henry could bear it no longer.

“You should have left me dead.”

Johan snapped to look at him, eyes wide and shocked. Henry’s face was grim set, pained.

“I didn’t just break my promise.”

Henry lowered his head, ashamed.

“I… I broke  _ us _ . I… I… I’m sorry. I cheated on you,” Henry exhaled, bit his lip, and glanced at Joey, who watched him in silence. “Let me explain - I’m not asking for forgiveness. I want to explain. The whole thing started with the smallest grain of sand. It was just a thought. The thought of you leaving for your shift. I agonized over it. I was terrified to lose you. And then, in the heat of the moment, I decided I would not, could not, lose you. So, I sketched you out, and ran it through the ink machine.”

Henry breathed, not looking at Joey, but trying to. Tears constantly surged in his eyes.

“And then, I asked it to trail you. To learn you. So you wouldn’t leave me.”

Henry let out a small laugh.

“It was a mistake. To have made it in the first place. I should have talked to you. But I did once, and it worked, and I thought I didn’t have to again.”

Johan was listening attentively.

“Then there was the drinking.”

Henry went quiet. Johan put a hand on his shoulder, carefully, to insist he continue. Henry smiled at him gratefully, shakily.

“I… I couldn’t figure out how to get rid of it. It wouldn’t die, Joey. It would always come back, no matter what. I was lost. I was afraid. I was angry. And so I drank.”

He leaned his head back.

“I don’t remember how much it was. I don’t remember that. I remember it coming to me. Whispering to me, with your voice, with your voice I had given it, whispering to me how much I missed you, how much I wanted you, how much I needed you.”

Henry looked Joey in the eye, now, resolve firm, but hands shaking.

“It was touching me, Joey. I was drunk. I wanted you, it looked like you, and it was my fault. Morning came. I was hungover and stripped. It was gone. And there were photographs on the floor. With my handwriting. I didn’t want to believe them, I didn’t want to cheat on you, but then, I had, and I was ashamed, afraid, terrified, so I did what any other coward would do - I set them on fire. I burned all but one. To remind myself what I had done.”

“Henry….”

Henry looked at Joey. Johan knelt to him, tears in his working eye.

“I didn’t know you were drunk.”

Henry shattered.

“You…” his breathing hitched, and his tears fell free. “You knew I cheated on you… and you still came back for me?”

“Yes.”

“But…” Henry could hardly wrap his head around it. “Why?”

“I can’t save the world…” Johan began slowly, his lips twitching into a smile, “Without my world by my side.”

Henry felt a smile tear at his face even through his hiccupping sobs.

***

“Good work, my little errand boy,” Alice praised as he cut through the three Butcher Gang members that blocked her path. “Well, I suppose even the best trained birds need to spread their wings at one point or another. Go to the elevator. This is where we part. I will send you to the heavens, where other birds like you ascend. Go, now.”

So, Henry did, and the ink demon was no longer in the elevator, though Boris waited for him.

***

He fell.

He always fell.

But this time, this time, he was falling with purpose.

He hugged Boris, even as they fell. 

“It’ll be okay, alright?” he assured him. His heart was so much lighter. He was not nearly forgiven, but he started on the path. It  _ would _ be okay.

Even as he crashed to earth - to his responsibility. 

It would be okay.

Even as he struggled to call to Boris about the Angel waltzing towards them.

It would be okay. 

Even as Boris was dragged away from him.

It would be okay. 

Even as his eyes fell shut.

It would be okay.

* * *

“I’m here.”

Joey sobbed, and Henry drew him away from the banister he gripped so, so very tightly. Underneath the stars, Joey pulled his legs back from over the ledge. He shook terribly, both in his hands and full body. Breathing came in sharp gasping breaths, struggling to put enough air in, not letting enough out, twitching and burning.

“Joey, I’m here.”

Henry held him, moving towards the door back into the studio. A thousand questions swirled in his head, images flashing past, each picture adding a million more inquiries he swallowed to bring the distraught man home.

The stars were billions of eyes, all looking, all staring, and Johan hid his face.

“It wasn’t me,” he choked out. “It wasn’t me.”

“What wasn’t you?” Henry’s hands, the gentle hands of the father he was, swiped away the tears streaking down his face. “Joey, it’s ok. What’s wrong?”

“You’re dead, and it wasn’t me,” Joey’s voice fell into a monotone, a torturous accusation of the highest order. Henry stepped back briskly, watching with trepidation, watched as Joey morphed, dripping, grinning, reaching. “It wasn’t me.”

Joey and Henry both woke with a start.

Henry passed out again moments later, the nightmare having exhausted him all the more, plunging him back into the void in hopes of more sleep, a full cycle.

Joey, however, stayed awake - struggling to place this in his mind - was this a memory? or merely a dream? Both were unsatisfactory answers. 

Joey knew that he had to clear his head, or his thoughts would consume him faster than fire through a wheat field during a drought. Already they seared his mind quite painfully. 

There never was any escape from the thoughts. 

Never.

No matter how hard he curled into a tight ball, no matter how hard he tried to block them out-

They always whispered, they always were there, whispering, giggling, questioning.

Joey Drew was afraid of heights.

It was not the fall that scared him, no.

It was the question his insidious mind inquired,

_ Don’t you want to jump? _

Johan slowly uncurled, dragging himself out of bed, gripping his cane tightly as he pulled himself toward his wheelchair, pivoting, deciding to attempt to balance on empty legs. 

His shoulders burned with the effort to stand, and his hips ached with the motion of each and every minute twitch in his stance. His head throbbed and mocked, but he shoved the thoughts away. Now was the time to act, to do, to be, to fight, to rise above his mortal coil, and then he could die when he slept.

But not today.

Today was another day to grab his sword of his smile, to take the shield of his work, to don the armor of his heart, and allow it to be pierced when it so needed to be. There would be no time to rest today. Not when his children were sick. Yet Alice was getting better, she was, she truly was becoming healthier, her cheeks growing rosy, her smile reaching her eyes, the cough receding into only some wheezing and minor sneezing. Yet though she gained strength, the danger remained, and nor could he rest while the world, and his world, was in danger.

The wicked did not rest from fear of those that would come clawing at their ankles and gripping their arms, sins crawling on their back. The weary did not rest from their own choices, or so it was said by the rich and relaxed. The youth had no rest from the bindings of the years above. Goodness only rested when there was no more to be done - and how rare that would be, and is.

Johan shivered, though he was not cold, for the air was warm in the autumn haze, and tightened his cloak around himself. 

There was work to be done, yet words lapped at his mind, begging to be released - and release had to come out from his mouth, and he had to talk, to someone, to anyone, and best to talk to someone that would not talk further.

One person came to mind; a person of wisdom, which he greatly needed at the time. 

“Uncle Bertie?” Joey asked after knocking. Bertrum hummed and gesticulated that he come in, poring over the blueprints for his new ‘body’ once more, a miniature version on the table. Nodes were connected to Bertrum’s temples, and with a brief moment of concentration, the scaled down ride hummed to life. Joey’s breath was taken away as he smiled. “That’s inc-incredible.”

“Complimenting your own work, I see,” Bertrum laughed, and the ride’s arms went up and down with the movement of his chest. Johan tried to deny it, but Bertrum hushed him with a wave of his broad hand. “Now now, you can’t deny the fact that you  _ did _ create the bridge between creator and creation.”

Joey’s mouth opened to protest, and closed with Bertrum’s gentle hand sealing it for him. 

“You’ve done something remarkable, Joey,” Bertrum reminded him. “And I am proud to call you my nephew. I could only wish it were more than in heart, but the fact that  _ you  _ have chosen  _ me  _ as your uncle makes it all the better, my dear. I am proud of the man you have grown up to be, Johan Ramirez. I am proud of  _ you _ .”

“Y-you’re….” Joey turned away. This was not how he was expecting this meeting to go, not at all. But was he against it? No, hardly. It warmed his heart with a deep glow in his chest. “It’s n-noth-”

“Don’t even try to say it was nothing, because it is something marvelous, something magical,” Bertrum insisted, reaching to pat Johan’s cheek, so their eyes would meet. “You’re a brilliant genius, especially mechanically. Scratch that, especially in every possible way.”

“Uncle Bertie?”

“Yes, Johan?”

“I… I wanted t-to talk to you about Henry.”

“Oh?” Bertrum rose a brow and seated himself. “And what about Dr. Stein is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

“There’s been a small revelation,” Joey admitted. “That he told me. W-we were talking in the elevator after the  _ incident _ with the bindii.”

“What sort of ‘revelation’?”

“He was drunk, Uncle Bertie.”

“Dot dot dot,” Bertrum said, but not literally, the ellipses almost visible in his eyes. “How drunk.”

“From what he told me, it seems to have b-been black out,” Johan replied, anxious. “I don’t think he realizes that… it doesn’t q-quite count.”

“No, no, it doesn’t,” Bertrum agreed, picking up his creamy coffee. “Yet, if I know anything about our dear Henry, I know he’d refuse to accept that because of his ‘manliness’ complex and his fear of being undermined, and this is a serious undermining.”

“We need to get him to understand,” Joey concluded, lacing his fingers together, then unlacing them as his throat and vocal cords gave out. ‘That he is not to blame for… that particular aspect. Though he is at fault for making the copy in the first place, and for getting drunk, he is not to be blamed for being taken advantage of, a clone or not.’

“Exactly, my lad,” Bertrum raised his mug, and then handed Johan a bottle of water. “Drink up. Heaven knows how little you take care of yourself.”

Johan pouted, but tilted his head back to nigh inhale the contents of the bottle. Bertrum did not bother to stare or roll his eyes, merely chuckled and ruffled Johan’s hair, or what of it that remained after he chopped it all off, almost, but not quite, to the roots. He had confessed, chuckling slightly, that lugging around six feet of hair was a literal pain in the neck (that earned some snorts and groans). The left hair was dark, prickly, and inky, but Joey assured Susie that it would grow long in soft sky blue and white. It always did.

“To your and Henry’s love,” Bertrum remarked, raising his mug once more. “For now that we know of the rift, and its nature, it can be more readily repaired, by Henry, for once, thank God.”

Joey hummed in reply, nodding and closing his eyes slightly. ‘I am glad of that.’

“You do know that you’re not to blame for that damn pathogen, correct?” Bertrum lilted a brow. Joey only looked to his shoes after his eyes snapped open. “You  _ must _ understand that, my dear. Yet, if anything, it would be  _ Henry’s _ fault for discouraging you from building the machine. However, we can be one hundred percent certain that it was not something our dear doctor had done on purpose, agreed?”

‘Absolutely,’ Johan signed with enough conviction to turn a barbarian into a lawyer. ‘Can you help him see the light of this nasty situation, Uncle?’

“You know I will do my utmost,” Bertrum chided, smiling just a bit. “I can see how it can be done, but it will take a lot of effort to drill it through that supremely thick skull of his.”

That made Joey laugh - or at least mime it in silence, until a shuddering cough jerked his voice box to life, raw, throaty huḳ- huḳ that reverberated even into Bertrum’s mug, the leftover liquid shimmering and foghorning with the vibrations. It was a guttural, monstrous laugh - but all the more precious for the man whose lips it left, who still laughed even in his immense pain.

Bertrum put his hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eye with a firm spark in his own gaze and smile.

“You can count on me, Joey.” he asserted, though hesitated. Johan patted his hands to request him to speak further, and he smiled gratefully before he continued. “Yet I have concerns of how we could count upon  _ you _ . Not that I doubt your abilities, no, not in the slightest, but my dear Johan, my dear Johan! How do you propose to bring back the dead? We do not have his body as a vessel, and the ink ones must have enough fragments of a soul to remain formed. So, even if we bring his soul back, he would be a river without a rock to hold onto.”

“Don’t worry,” Joey replied. “It will all be resolved without issue.”

“I would like to see that,” Bertrum half scoffed, half sighed in hope. “I trust you.”

“What other choice do you have?” Johan inquired, to which Bertrum had no answer. “But I am g-grateful nonetheless for your trust, Uncle Bertie. I apologize f-for the challenge.”

“No, no, it gives a man a great deal to think about,” Bertrum waved off, his bronze eyes already deep in thought. “There has not been the idea of choice in this world for a long time, has there?”

Joey was quiet a moment. 

“There is the choice to hope.”

***

Johan wheeled himself into the ink machine room. Gazing at his reflection, he could see the remainder of chains encircling his wrists, his head held aloft on spokes as his neck was torn chock full of holes and gashes, and his heart pounded, pounded, pounded, and he fell, fell, fell, backwards, head aimed straight to hell, rush of wind driving past his ripped arms and broken legs as he plummeted, and then-

_ I’m here. _

Broad hands on his face.

_ Joey, I’m here. _

He was pulled up, slowly, gently, carefully, the path made of gentle touches and soothing words, and he could feel ink seep off his wings. Johan could unfurl them once more, slow and cautious, basking in the ebbing glow of  _ his _ touch. 

Johan sighed and sank into those wide and soft arms, listening to a heartbeat that should not be, but was nonetheless, and he accepted the embrace.

He accepted his embrace, yet he would have to earn that of Joey’s. 

Oh, he  _ would  _ earn it. 

It would be Henry’s choice to make the effort, and by Heaven and Hell, he would, and would let Joey be the judge of his effort, and would accept his decree wholeheartedly.

When Johan stirred, Henry’s embrace faded, yet his cloak was laid over his chest, unlike the armrest it had resided on but twenty minutes before. The pain of the shackles was nigh gone, and a warmth thrummed in his chest. Smiling, he stretched his arms, folded himself to touch numb toes, rose his arms high, and swiveled around to head to the infirmary. Thomas crossed paths with him not two minutes later, and he blinked as he looked at his employer.

“You’re looking… well,” he commented, and hastily corrected himself. “As in good. You are looking well.”

“Right,” Joey responded slowly after processing Thomas’ strangely stuttered comment. There was a gap in words, awkward and crisp. Johan shifted in his chair. “Um. Can I help you, Mr. Connor?”

“Ah, just wondering,” Thomas placed himself behind Johan. “Mind if I wheel you?”

“Not at all,” Joey replied, wrapping his cloak around himself and leaning back a bit. Thomas studied the top of his head as he moved, thinking about the information he had gathered through the past few weeks. Johan tilted his head to look up at Thomas and smiled. “What’s that on y-your mind, Tom?”

“Thinking about lunch,” he half lied. “Speaking of which, what do you have for your lunch today, Mr. Drew?”

“Cucumber and melon salad,” Johan began, and Thomas nearly tripped in his steps, a bit surprised, yet continued after the lapse, “With chili and honey.”

That was enough for Thomas. He stopped in his tracks, and walked up to the front of the man, eyes wide. 

“Joey, my family is vastly composed of women,” Tom commented, readying a spiel. “I’ve got two moms and four sisters. So I’m pretty versed in motherhood. If you need to tell someone, I’m here for you.”

“Tom, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Are you not pregnant?”

It was Joey’s turn to stare at Thomas. 

“No, I am  _ not _ pregnant!” Joey burned in embarrassment and confusion. “I am  _ quite _ certain of that fact!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” Thomas defended. “All signs pointed to it - your veins have been darker, you’ve gained some weight, you’ve had some mood swings, can’t drink, and look at your lunch for god’s sake! Only a pregnant person would eat that!”

“Excuse me!” Johan flushed, gripping the handles of his wheelchair in an attempt to gain some grounding in his own mind. “Thomas! I can  _ assure _ you I am not pregnant!”

“Maybe you just can’t tell,” Thomas spoke gently, putting his hands onto Joey’s. “I mean, like, the last time you saw Henry was only a few months ago-”

“Tom. I would know if I were pregnant,” Joey assured him softly. “Believe me on that.”

“Okay,” Thomas sighed, then tilted his head with a slight smile. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Ah, well then, off to the infirmary with you,” Thomas stepped back behind him. It hardly took any time, and before long Johan was set up.

Shawn’s voice said, “Three, two-”

***

Henry woke alone. 

Instantly his mind filled with all of the events of the last few days - too many, too little, but still - he had to push forward. This time, without abandoning any member of his family. Never would he turn his back on those that cared for him unconditionally. It was no easy task for him to shoulder and accept, yet he would take it. He picked up the seeing tool from beneath the rubble beside him, and dusted himself off, shaking out the strange feeling of  _ no _ ache. The noncorporeal had so many drawbacks, and he hated each.

He stretched out his arms, shaking them out once more, and let himself breathe. The flecks of memory dancing about him in their slow ballet drifted around his head and hands, and he inhaled every spangle he could, feeling it settle warm in his heart, calming and refreshing his mind. This he could go forward with his axe in, this he could strive to tackle and defeat - whatever it was. He marched on, step, step. 

Henry’s grim march paused as he cocked his head in the direction of Grant’s office.

Was that a phone ringing?

There was a phone ringing.

He walked towards it, cautious, creaking open the door to the accountant’s room. The state it was in horrified him, and he quickly closed the door, before readying himself and re-entering. 

He closed the door behind himself, righting the chair on the floor, looking all over the walls, absorbing all the defamation and scrawls across the whole of the wood. 

It reminded him of the mania that pathogenink drove into its hosts before their untimely demise, the insanity and fear that would grip those patients, the ones that he himself treated to the best of his abilities. Once more, a painful and silent reminder of what he had done stared right back at him, the words etching into his eyes. 

He sat, and he mourned.

The phone rang once more.

Henry picked it up, numbly. 

“This is Mr. Stein speaking,” Henry found himself saying quite robotically despite his dry throat, the absurdity causing his lips to twitch. “How can I help you?”

“Who are you, Henry?” Joey’s voice, hoarse and raw, questioned through the receiver. “Do you know who you are? What makes you Henry Sumarliði Stein? Are you my beloved Ray of sunshine or the eclipse of what remains? Henry, I miss you so, yet I fear you are not the man I miss.” 

“Oh, Joey,” Henry gripped the wire, closing his eyes. “I love you. Even if I lost your love, I will love you until the day I… I lose you entirely. I may have changed through these trials, but I hope it is for the better. I vow to do anything for you, and our family. I hope you can hear me say these promises, because I know you’ll hold me to them.”

“I hear you,” came Johan’s whisper.

“I love you,” Henry tried to put all his conviction into those words, gripping the phone tightly. “Heaven knows how much I love you. I’ll leave behind all my gold and all my rewards to walk through the oceans to come to your island. God, god, I love you. I love you, Joey-”

He broke off into a sob, trembling, hand clenching into a fist, but where there should have been half moons from nails digging pressure into skin, there was naught but air driving twit air. 

“I miss you,” he choked out, cradling the phone to his lips. “I miss you, and I love you, Joey.”

“I… I love you, too,” Joey murmured, and oh! his heart leapt out to the sky, settling back within him with a peaceful yet giddy vibe of life. “You are the man I love, it seems, and I will hold you to your promises, Henry. We shall meet again soon.”

“I’ll gladly wait for that time,” Henry exhaled, sliding down the wall. He kissed the speaker, and whispered once more, “I love you, Joey Drew.”

***

Henry knew there were others - of course there were - but these did not plead with him. The lost souls that stood before him were silent, staring, watching. With his head high, he walked past each of them, taking in small details that made them unique, and through them, noted some former co-workers, though they merely stirred if he said their names with no further reaction. He knew they were mere husks of those that had once been, yet the loss struck him in the gut. 

He traveled on, finding the door locked. For some reason, the spindle placement was reminiscent of a ship’s portculus, centered and with steel rods interlocking the spokes into place. Henry ran a hand over it as he turned away, setting his mind to take the valve that was in Grant’s office connected to the pipework. The lost ones still watched as he crossed past them to walk back the path to the accountant’s office, their gaze locked on his back. He suppressed a shiver, and walked on into the office, prying off the valve, then slipped it onto his belt. Pausing outside of the office, he pressed an ear to the door across from Grant’s, and heard a faint sound of typing. He pushed the door open, and found the room empty besides for a can of bacon soup and a poster of Boris. Picking up the can, Henry tossed it towards the Boris poster with a sigh - only to stare at the space where it had seemingly gone straight through the wall. 

He put his hand onto the wall, and felt no resistance as it passed through the ‘wood’. Was this an area that Johan forgot to seal off? He followed his hand out to the other side of the wall, expecting to see naught but void, and instead stared at me. I left. 

“What the hell?” Henry asked air. He would not be answered. Shaking his head to clear it, he left from the alcove beyond the bounds of his world, and it vanished from his memory as well. It was not something he would want to recall, in any case. Moving on, he made his way back to the door, and slotted in the valve. It fit. Without any effort, he twisted it into place, the spokes leaving their rusted slots, the heavy iron wrought door creaking inwards. Henry walked on, the seeing tool tight in his grip. Joey’s library opened to him, and he shivered at the sight of his… employer’s beloved books strewn about, sticking off the shelves where they belonged. He picked up one of the books from the ground, smiling wryly at the cover of ‘Of Mice and Men’. 

Which was he?

A man? 

Or a mouse?

Even if he was a cowardly rat before, he would leave his stoop of fear and straighten his back to shoulder his duties as an איש, a proper man.

Henry replaced the book where it belonged, and made his way to the center of the room, the old chess game unset and placed to the side, several books on the armrests of the chairs, many on biology and physics, some on atoms, some plain sweet novellas. He replaced the ones he picked up from the floor, and placed the others into a pile, sitting in his own armchair, which accepted his weight as though he had never left it, a recorder placed on the small table beside it.

He let Susie’s voice play, and that was when he noticed it. He rose from the chair with a gasp, and rushed into the room where now only a statue rested. The lost ones were gone, without a trace. The now empty room sent shivers down Henry’s spine, so he promptly left, pulling shut the door behind him, not wanting to see the chilling scape. He curled up on his armchair, trying to keep out the terror that swept at his mind. He did not want to be afraid. He wanted to be brave, to prove himself to everyone, especially to Joey. He  _ had _ to prove himself to Joey. 

More importantly, he had to show  _ himself _ how to behave. How to be a model for his children, instead of running away from them and the man who loved him despite everything, from his family, his job, his responsibilities. Since when was he so afraid? Was it when he first saw responsibility on the rise? He knew the machine would bring responsibility, and he feared for Joey, yet more precisely, Henry had feared that the machine would take Johan away from him. How wrong he was. Each and every time he attempted to tighten his grip on Joey, he lost him even more than before, and  _ Joey _ , bless him, came back… for him.

Those first few runs, his manipulative actions to draw the man into a snare, playing him as easily as Johan played chess, only finding heartbreak and loss. Then the one right before this, when Henry had vehemently opposed the building of the machine, and thus he himself, and the whole of the world, perished. Now? Regret surged through him. 

His mistakes may have started small, but they certainly snowballed. 

Exhaling, he released the tension in his body, stretching out, slumped in the armchair as if he had gone through a particularly rough day at work. He gave a wry smile. It would not be a wrong description to say so. 

Pushing himself off the chair, he glanced about, and noticed another book out of place, sticking halfway off the shelf. Frowning, he slotted it back in place. Motes of dust clung to his fingers as they moved away from the spine. He sighed as he inspected the specks, heart clenching in such a deep sadness, tears touched his eyes. Once more he blinked them away, steeling himself to plow onwards and upwards. There were lights above the door, only three lit up. He kept his eyes on the lights as he pushed in another book 

_ chaos wind hands gripping holding reaching slamming sirens bombing fighting yelling blood flashing flapping white white yellow red white _

Henry gasped as he gripped his chest, shuddering with wet eyes, tears spreading down through his beard and moistening the dry skin beneath. He could  _ feel _ , he could remember his body rending in heat. Had he really traded his shame for a wrenching death?

His stomach clenched in his gut, and he felt hunger briefly snatch at him before the sensation ebbed back into nothingness. 

Once his heart stopped trying to escape its containment of his ribs, he pushed himself from his bowed kneel to rise again, and saw the lights now had four. One more to go. He spotted the last book on the other end of the circular room, and grimaced as he pushed it in with trepidation, relaxing as his faculties and memories remained in the moment. Making his way through the doorway, he found naught but darkness enswarming him. He ignored the fear in his heart, emerging right at the cusp of a black hole. Pressing his back to the wall, he edged along it and came across an odd machine. Each time he pulled its lever, a different icon appeared on the side. 

At first, he questioned its usage, before noticing the basket - a literal basket - that led to the other side docked on the opposite port. The mechanism was missing a gear, and therefore the cogs turned on empty air, and the cart was stuck. Henry moved on, hoping to find something that would activate the smaller machine to attain a cog. Once more he marveled at Joey’s brilliance. The man had an infinite supply of ink, and therefore shaped it into whatever he needed. 

Of course, Henry was not exactly happy to see a big searcher sitting in a tub of ink, especially not one wearing, oddly enough, lingerie.

Even less when it spoke with Shawn’s voice.

“Hellooo there, Doc,” he wanted to punch that smug grin right out of the man’s voice. “You look positively  _ ravishing _ .”

Henry, covered from head to toe in ink, sweat, and a hint of blood, stared at him with a glare that would have melted any less brazen individual. 

“I’m sure you were looking for me,” Shawn continued, sticking his leg into the air, looking like the biggest fool to have ever lived. “Weren’t you?”

“You might be the last person in the world I wanted to see,” Henry groaned. Shawn opened his inky mouth to reply, but Henry slammed a hand over it. “I’m just here for that blob of ink on your head. That’s all. Now get back in there.”

After taking the glob, Henry pushed on Shawn’s head and shoved him back into the ink. A hand with the middle finger raised momentarily, vanishing right before Henry smacked the spot with the seeing tool.

Satisfied that the man made no attempt to return, Henry turned away, and instantly was treated to a splatter of ink on the back of his neck, followed by Shawn’s laughter. 

“Oh, screw this,” he muttered, rubbing the spot and trying to get out the dark purply blue substance best he could. Without much trouble, he formed the gear and slotted it into place, happy to see the basket moving along on its own. It stopped at his feet, and he settled himself into it, tucking his knees to his chest. 

He stared into the abyss beneath him, wondering how deep it went.

It creaked to a stop right in the center of the wire. 

Henry very much regretted questioning the depth. 

He looked up, feeling his heart beat frantically, and wished with all his might to see Joey, at least one last time.

Miracle of miracles, the cart groaned and moved onwards slowly, and Henry jumped out of the cart the moment he could, and watched Shawn on the other side hit the rope with an axe not a second later, the basket tumbling down, down, down. It eventually landed with a splash perhaps a full minute later. 

“Oh, my darling errand boy,” Alice crooned, and Henry tilted his head back as he let out a long suffering groan. “Do you really think you were the only one? Well, you were the only one with a  _ perfect _ Boris, certainly, but you better hurry. He’s not doing so well.”

She laughed, and Henry muttered a swear under his breath. He was rather done with this whole charade of benevolence from this false angel. 

Henry continued onward, not ignoring her words, but having no use for them as he marched. There was steam in his path, through the grating on all sides of him. While the warmth was welcome, as was the moisture that eased the dried ink from his clothes and limbs, he was still filled with a sensation of deep dread settling in his throat. 

One step.

Another step.

Slow, slow, cautious.

Just as the fear began to abate, his mind flashed and shattered.

Arms reaching out to him, pleading, stretching. Wanting him to set them free. To save them from what he had done to them. He brought death, the angel of justice that he was. 

The sweat on his brow merged with the steam accumulating on his body. He struggled to suck in the heavy air, the saturation causing him to cough, his throat scratching and choking on the smallest of water molecules. 

“Pathetic.” Alice scolded him. “Get up from the floor, errand b-” there was a crackle of static, and at first Henry thought there was merely a malfunction. “What… what is that interference?”

“01010100 01100101 01110011 01110100.”

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing on my line?! Get off-”

Her voice vanished into a burst of static, and it was replaced by a whistle, which eventually also faded into nothing. 

“Greetings!” the speakers boomed, making Henry wince. “Oh, my, I am sorry. Let me get that volume adjusted.”

“Bertrum?” Henry asked, looking around in bewilderment.

“At your service,” Bertrum replied. “I do hope you recovered from your scare. After all, today is your first day on the job!”

“What job?” Henry questioned, helped up by a pipe. “I did not sign up for any job….”

“Why, you’re our newest Bendyland employee!” Bertrum answered. “Whether you came here of your own choice, because you’re being hunted down by a homicidal angel, or any other reason, we, Lacie Benton and I, welcome you. This job is chock full of all sorts of mind melting mathematical equations that make you question why you went into engineering instead of something like, say, animation.”

“Wonderful,” Henry grumbled. 

“What was that?”

“I’m- uh- very excited. For this new opportunity.”

“That’s the spirit!”

***

Stairs. Were. Evil. If Henry thought anything was wicked, it was recently feeling your body coming back into a state with a nervous system and having to pull oneself up at least three flights of stairs. He was winded to say the least, and viciously jealous of his-one-day-ago’s endless supply of energy to say the most. 

“They said we could go home,” he heard as he panted with hands on his knees, looking up to see a lost one wandering on a balcony. “When can we go home? I want to go home. I want to go home!”

Henry swallowed roughly, and lowered his head. He wanted to go home, too - and this was the path to it, to  _ him _ . There were other lost ones in the room beyond, and they all stared at him. 

One pointed at a vent, and another pointed at a flashlight. Henry picked it up, and made his way into the vent, looking beyond his shoulder to find that those two lost ones were working on screwing the vent shut. 

Henry shuddered. 

He was quite glad that he was not claustrophobic, otherwise the narrow passage would have been even more hellish than it already was. 

The flashlight did not help. 

Not until he saw a light far beyond, and he pulled himself along a little faster, being reminded of crawling along trenches and tunnels as he did so. Here, dirt did not cling to him, but ink and sins.

Years passed so fast, like rain falling from a star, so far and molten. 

His mind wandered.

The ink demon crashed into his vision, Henry’s head hitting the top of the vent in his surprise. 

“Didya miss me?” Johan asked, grinning. Henry’s hand came to the side of his face on instinct, and Johan froze, his jaw dropping out of the perpetual smile he wore.

“More than you can ever imagine,” Henry told him with all the truth in the world. “You’re so wonderful, Joey. I miss you every moment I’m not with you - but I’m getting better at  _ doing  _ without you. I don’t need you, but god, I miss you.”

Joey did not say anything, looking into Henry’s eyes, searching for the truth in his words.

“May I… may I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Not. Not anywhere you’d be uncomfortable,” Henry bit his lip, the thumb on the side of Joey’s surprised face going back and forth gently. “On your forehead, for example-”

The tips of Joey’s fingers came to Henry’s chin, closing his mouth and tingling with energy, tugging his face to the grating, and he kissed him softly through the gap.

When Henry closed his eyes, he could almost feel like he was thirty years younger.

“Now get going, you…” Joey shook his head, smiling naturally. “You fool.”

“Yes but I’m your fool,” Henry, blushing, shot back. Joey chuckled and turned away. “I’ll see you around, hotstuff.”

Joey slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from bursting into laughter. His eye twinkled with contained mirth as he glanced back at Henry, then vanished around the bend.

Henry’s mood could not even be soured by falling ten feet down out of a vent. The flashlight rolled away from him and he could not be bothered to pick it back up, though he rose and dusted himself off yet again. 

“Here we are!” Bertrum’s voice thrummed back to life as a live wire sparked, lights flickering on. “Storage unit nine. There are fourteen storage units, and this is the one you have been assigned.”

“Alright then,” Henry glanced around with the seeing tool. “What do I have to do?”

“First of all, you must evaluate yourself,” Bertrum instructed. “Have you had any alcohol or currently in a hangover? If so, you should not be operating any of this machinery. If you see someone drunk, drugged, or otherwise inhibited, do not allow them to operate or go onto any of the rides, and instead lead them to a safe location.”

“Um,” Henry replied, perplexed. Bertrum continued as if he had not heard him, “If you pass this self evaluation, then congratulations. You may proceed to the next order of business. Due to our facility only having two sets of keys, one with myself and the other with Mx. Benton, it was agreed with Mr. Franks to create games that would function as safewords to unlock the other rooms within this storage unit. Please proceed to the first game, the Duck Hunt.”

Henry did so, picking up a (thankfully) toy gun that sat comfortably in his hand. 

“All the equipment here has been carefully curated and created to include any person who would like to enter BendyLand, whether or not they have a disability.”

Henry easily beat the game, but slowed to listen to Bertrum’s words.

“Such as that toy gun - it can be modified to fit anyone’s grip. Anyone can use it, but that does not mean everyone  _ wants _ to. You see, desire is  _ extremely _ important in the entertainment industry. Without desire or consent, the result will not be enjoyable. Without that, the joy is gone from that person, and they might never find such an experience enjoyable ever again.”

Henry swallowed roughly, quickly finding and pressing the switch that powered on another set of wiring. 

“Please follow the light path to your next task, Dr. Stein.”

“Yes, Mr. Piedmont.”

***

Henry found himself in a metal storage section, with H and I beams stacked along with canisters for the welding kept in flame resistant crates. 

“Maintaining cleanliness is instrumental in keeping a good business. Without order, there is only chaos and loss. When it is chaotic, it makes it easier for insecure members to go around the backs of those firm in their place and embezzle, whether it be money, material, or even ideas.”

Henry found and pushed the next button. 

“Excellent. You powered the strength test. That will unlock Research and Design, even if you don’t manage to ring the bell.”

Henry hefted the hammer and rose it above his head, bringing it down with a resounding  _ slam _ .

“Oh. You broke the bell.” Bertrum sounded amused, though Henry sucked in a sharp breath as he beheld the hole he shot through the ceiling. “Ah. The angel has a message. I’ll relay it to you right now. Echem, she says, ‘Glad to know you care more about games than your duties’. Well, the nerve of that woman. I must say, Henry, that a good balance between pleasure and work must be found, and if anything, there must be pleasure in work. You are doing very good.”

Henry peered into the next room. 

“Bertrum, there’s the butcher gang in here,” he whispered, narrowing his eyes as he surveyed the area below him. “How am I supposed to get to that switch?”

“You’re a smart man, Henry,” Bertrum chided. “Figure it out.”

***

Henry panted as he slammed the grate shut. 

“That was awful,” he exhaled slowly, sliding down the metal plates. 

“I’ll say,” Lacie huffed, folding hir arms of ink. “That took ya forever. You here for the switch?”

“Yeah,” Henry, surprised but grateful, nodded. Lacie copied the motion, pointed to the button, then walked through a fence to curl up into a ball on the floor. “Are… are you alright?”

“I’m cold, Henry,” she snapped. “This ink… it’s ice in your veins. Better a searcher than a lost one. At least the searchers know what they want.”

“So… do you  _ want _ to be killed?” Henry asked, putting a hand onto the grate between them, wishing he could put a comforting hand on hir shoulder. Lacie shook hir head, but shook it again when Henry asked, “So do you want to live?”

“Ya see, doc,” she turned hir head to look at him from a yellow eye. “I  _ do _ wanna find a way out. But I’m still human. I’ve still got that fear of death. And I hope for a better way out. You better find it, Henry. For all of us.”

***

“When will this end, Bertrum?”

Silence answered him.

“Bertrum…?”

“What is ‘end’, Henry?”

That made Henry fall silent.

***

“Are you serious?” Henry hissed, backing into a corner. “ _ He’s _ here?”

“Where would he be? Do you really think the ink kills forever? We come back to relive our pain if we perish on our own. Set them free, Henry.”

Henry made his way around Norman, managing to find the lift. Norman’s shriek drilled at his ears as he was carried up and away. His heart pounded in his throat, pulsing at his temples. 

He found the main switch, flicking it and going around to the other side to give Norman the slip. Yet, as he did so, he noticed a tape recorder beside the joke photo booth Shawn had painted.

Playing it, he waited for the camera to load.

Oh, Johan.

Where did you even find that?

It was his voice, but not his words. Those were the words of a demon long gone. 

Henry looked at his surroundings with the seeing tool. 

_ That’s the Joey Drew  _ **_I_ ** _ knew _

Oh, Johan…

_ You’re not that monster - SC _

Can you see?

_ Not our nephew, Joey - BP & LB _

Henry put his hand on the words.

_ Not us, pal - w & w f _

Just because you have been haunted does not mean you are your demons.

_ We knew an angel - HTD _

Henry dipped his hand into the ink.

_ We knew a friend - SL & TMD _

He placed it against the wall.

_ Know again, genius - TC & GC _

He hesitated, and thought. Then, he wrote beside the words of everyone he ever knew and loved.

_ I know you, Joey, and I love you. You’re perfect the way you are, with all your imperfections. _

He looked at his message, and added a heart.

Perfect.

***

Hell, damn, crap, shit, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

A deafening screech made him slam his hands over his ears, the seeing tool bouncing against his leg as he ran as fast as he could through knee high ink. 

“Come on come on,” he gasped, reaching for the lever. Stars raced across his pulsing vision, and he dropped into the ink on his hands and knees, tired out from evading the Projectionist. 

Who, incidentally, had vanished. 

Fine by Henry.

***

Not fine, not fine, not fine, go go g-

Henry’s chin slammed into the floor, and he tasted copper even as he scrambled up, cursing himself for his trip on the stairs, launching himself into the Miracle Station and pulling the door shut, gripping the peephole to hold the door closed. 

Blood filled his mouth even as he breathed in terror, watching Norman stalk ever closer. 

Reaching.

Asking.

Hand open for Henry to feel what he had done.

Until  _ he  _ came to save him even now.

They yelled, they fought, they argued, and Norman struck the first blow across the Ink Demon’s face, making Henry gasp.

Norman reached towards him, and Henry shrank away. 

The Ink Demon rushed back, and Norman and he fell to the floor, Norman pressing on a throat.

The throat that did not exist.

The Ink Demon tore off his head.

Henry came out of the Station, tripping over himself to help, but the Ink Demon snarled at him.

Henry, chastised, returned to the Miracle station. 

Joey’s hand reached within and guided him to the gap, and he kissed his brow. Then, he left, carrying Norman’s body over his shoulder.

“That could have gone much better, don’t you think?”

“Shut up, Bertrum.”

***

“Do you think consent can be given in silence?”

“What?” Henry looked up from the wire he was following to look at the speaker above his head. “No, of course not.”

“Exactly. They say silence means you agree, but that is not so, hm?”

“Yeah,” Henry concluded, continuing along the path. Only one button remained. “It could just be someone being nervous or not in their right mind.”

“Quite right,” Bertrum sounded like he was leaning away. “You cannot force someone to go on a ride if they are nervous, and someone may be silent in brewing a revenge, and thus not agree.”

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Henry asked, chuckling, albeit with a touch of worry. It was hard to tell what a disembodied voice was truly feeling, especially that of an Englishman. Bertrum only laughed. “I’ll take that as a no….”

“And if someone is silent when another tries to take something from them?” Bertrum went on. “Like their glory? Their pride?”

“Well, I don’t know what I would do in a situation like that,” Henry admitted. “Probably ignore-”

“But then it will fester. It will grow into something dangerous.”

Henry feared if he replied he would reveal something he would not want to.

“You know this.”

Henry looked up to the willow ride.

“You feel this.”

His hand trembled. 

“Go ahead. Push that play button. And you may find we have more in common than you would like to admit.”

***

Henry threw up in the corner after he wobbled his way to the button from a mixture of nausea and regret. Bertrum’s husk smoked and burned, the scent of ink and oil intoxicating the air. 

His eyes watered from the fumes (and his agony) as he kept his back to the dead man while he left the room. 

He  _ knew. _

_ Bertrum knew. _

Joey probably told him, but the words the man said, the way he took it, the way he approached him, without judgement, with understanding and  _ compassion _ .

Bertrum was far more kind to Henry than he would be to himself. 

He could hardly hear Alice’s words as she taunted him.

Still, he was jolted out of his reverie by the massive hands that gripped the cart he sat in.

He came face to face with a grinning nightmare, until he was thrown across the room.

Henry scrambled to his feet, and rolled to evade one of Boris’s attacks. 

“KILL HIM!” Alice shrieked. “KILL HIM!”

‘Who are you talking to,’ Henry asked silently, snatching a globule of ink the monster hacked up. A pipe slammed into Boris’ chest before melting in his hand. ‘Him or I?’

It became clear that she meant that Boris should kill  _ him  _ by the second blow, as she sent in railcars for the brute to throw at him. They brushed past him like wind on a hill, rolling on. 

The final blow landed, right on the wolf’s chest where its heart should have been.

He howled, but grinned, laughed, howled and laughed as he melted away.

Alice rushed at him, claws out, and a blade sliced through her.

She fell.

And a new angel rose.

Henry groaned, exhausted, looked at his hands - solid - and promptly fainted. 

* * *

Henry sketched them. Allison and Thomas, that is to say. Something about them was off, in their essence, as if they were charading as someone they each were not. 

He still was a mite shell shocked from the whole of his previous experiences, and so the time he got to be with merely himself and think was quite relaxing. He had yet to accept his path entirely, but knowing he was forgiven eased his heart. He was calm when he had his first meal in what felt like thirty years, hunger roaring back to life and gurgling in his gut. 

It became a ritual for him, to sit back, think, and ponder what he had yet to do. Where else would he find such a chance ever again? Who else would give this to him? Why would anyone even attempt to bring him back, he was dead and should have remained so. Joey clearly did not believe that. Johan was going to bring him back no matter the cost or price. Linda glanced over at the sleeping man where he lay, eye covered by an embroidered patch, his hand bandaged from the base of his fingers to the end of his wrist, the wheelchair tucked into a corner of the room, and she scowled, upset that Joey was the one that had to pay for her father's - well, her ‘biological; father's misdeeds. Yet, she was well aware that Joey had technically become a father of her as well, for in her body and soul she could feel him and recognize him as such. Even before he saved her life by imbuing his life into her soul, they still became closer than anyone could believe. 

She tossed a ball of ink into the air, stretching it into a thin membrane, just like Joey told her to do. It would all be part of his plan, and though she did not understand the technicalities, she still understood the basic premise. Henry's inner self had slowly begun to form through his time on the bridge, as they could all see from the way he ate - the fact he ate was proof enough for them. She hardly trusted the endless streams of ink, but she trusted the man who made it all. It was rather ironic at how far they came, from hating the ink that murdered them to loving the pools that brought them life. After she caught the ball of ink, she let it dissolve back into her flesh and blood, flowing within her veins. Henry needed an anchor to come back, and his own daughter would provide it for him, along with his other children. They did not want to put too much stress onto any one of them, and Joey especially worried for all of them, not only the children but all the workers that he pulled into his family, or pulled him into their families. 

Then there was Henry.

Oh, he may have been a slighter member, but he still remained a patriarch. 

Joey's brow furrowed, and his heart pulsed in time with the machine's dictations. Linda ran a hand through his short hair, and kissed his brow. 

‘Papa is so brave,’ she thought to herself, taking his nonbandaged hand. It was cold, almost like he was dead, though his chest rose and fell so slowly, almost imperceptibly. Linda wished this would end, and that Johan would be able to go back to normal. That everything would go back to normal. ‘Come home soon....’

***

Henry navigated as fast as he could, glad for the hidden pipe that allowed him to run from his prison, and his little raft traversed through the river of ink at a slow even pace. The hand that chased after him tried to pull him within the ink, to sink him in escape, to let him relax from his responsibilities. But that was an option he had no right or choice to make, and he continued on, despite the adrenaline rushing through his veins that slowed his progress even as it should have increased it. 

A village awaited him. An entire troop of lost ones hiding in their homes, as if they were waiting for him to arrive from the hazed ink mire. Not a single one dared approach him. It was a ghost town where souls still lived, wandering and wishing to learn how to reconcile their unwanted immortality with the illness in their veins, and those with their everlasting humanity. 

The smile he wore on his lips was relaxed, but nonetheless pained. It was still a smile, a tight, yet loose, roughened, yet soft, pained, yet happy, smile. He was on his way home, he could feel it with every step he took, each he made that cemented his growing limbs and organs, how each breath caused his lungs to fill, and how each heartbeat strummed in his chest, flowing outwards and onwards.

Henry was about to break in the beams of wood before him, right before they shattered in his face, his smile turning into an 'o' of surprise. 

Sammy grappled with him.

His hand held the oily arm gripping the axe that tried to bear down onto his throat, his arm pushed against a heaving chest that fed the fuel of a screaming mouth. 

What smile?

Sammy struck him in his stomach, and he gasped with the pain, falling back as the man shoved him back with the butt of the axe. He caught himself on his elbows, the feeling sharp and jarring as the wood slammed against his bone and the bend of his arm. 

Sammy rose the axe up, and Henry rose his hand to shield himself from the man's deranged strike, and a mechanical arm wrapped around Sammy's neck, picking him up and pulling him away by his throat.

“Tom?” Henry asked, eyes wide as he beheld the wolf gripping the prophet aloft. Allison glanced at him, and helped him up. “What are you two doing here?”

“We’re here to make sure you get where you need to go,” Allison explained, and Thomas nodded. Sammy gagged, scrambling at the wolf’s hand that throttled him. “Tom, put him down.”

The wolf grimaced, but he dropped him, and Sammy hacked up ink through the hole in his mask. 

“Thank you, you brute,” Sammy wheezed, rubbing his neck, “For releasing me from your murderous hold.”

‘At least I did not slam my axe into your head,’ Tom shot back, handing said axe to Henry. It sat comfortably in his hand. He looked around, eyes at first narrow, then widening. ‘Is your “flock”... angry? At us?’

“What?” Sammy glanced around. “Oh. Oh, it appears so. Well, if you don’t mind, pass me my axe, and I will appease them.”

Albeit with a tad of reluctance, Henry gave the man the weapon. 

“Come forth, my sheep,” Sammy intoned, and one stepped forth. “Come now, he will set us free! Would you be the one to bring him to us?”

It came a few bumbling steps forward, looking at Sammy with tired eyes. 

Henry hardly had time to scream, ink splattering across his chest.

The light in the lost one’s eyes faded as it fell to its knees, dissolving from where its neck ended.

“You killed them!” Henry gasped, blinking fast. “What the hell, Lawr-”

“Shh!” Sammy put a hand on his mouth. “Listen!”

The world was still, but they could feel the movement in their chests. 

“He approaches.”

“We need to run, then!” Allison shouted, but it was too late - they were surrounded by the searchers who found what they were looking for - in Henry.

“Help us!”

“Set us free….”

“Kill us….”

“Hit me!”

Henry’s axe was slick with the oily tar of the ink. 

The lost ones, guided by their searching brethren, rushed in from all sides. Henry felt himself growing exhausted, and saw Allison, Tom, and Sammy all fighting in a triangle, keeping each other’s backs guarded.

Who was watching his own?

Henry was exhausted, panting, but he looked up at Sammy.

“So,” he remarked, and the man, picking up and putting on his mask echoed, “So?”

“You’re back,” Henry pointed out. “Well, did you ever die from… whatever happened to you?”

“I did not die,” Sammy growled back, shaking off the ink and blood from his sharpened axe. “Who I  _ was  _ died. I remembered, I remembered what had happened, and I remembered  _ you _ did this to me, to us.”

The world still shook in their souls.

“We cannot tarry. Move along.”

***

Henry was sore. All over.

How did his desk get here?

How could he have ever thought it was a waste of time?

Still, he moved on, pulling himself on, kicking aside the broken remains of his axe. It had served him well enough, he supposed. 

Evading the butcher gang was easy enough. There were places to hide everywhere, and easy to break in the middle walls to make it even simpler to get to

his office.

Henry stood inside it, looking around in sorrow. Dust covered all surfaces. Johan’s rose was painfully bare of all flowers, thorns jutting out starkly on the thin branch. The computer was shattered, broken over and over, and Henry knew that Johan had been taking his rage out on the device as life slipped from his fingers. 

There were small splotches of brown dried blood on the surface of the desk, and Henry felt his heart ache so painfully….

***

There was the vault. Henry recognized it as belonging near Grant and Norman’s stations, what was it doing here? 

He reached into a box, finding it empty. 

There  _ should _ have been something there… he could sense it. 

Should there have been the reel?

A shriek tore at his ears, a bright light burning into his eyes, and he turned to see Norman rushing towards him with loping steps through the remnants of the inked passage. 

Allison, Sammy, and Tom followed close behind. 

“Thank god Norman found you,” Allison sighed, clutching her sword. She shivered. “I never much liked this place… is the reel missing?”

“Mm,” Henry answered, looking around. “Where is the way forward, here?”

A door was pushed open right before their eyes. Alice, leaning heavily on Shawn (still wearing lingerie), appeared in through it. 

“This way,” she said, and they vanished back within. Sammy and Norman immediately walked forward to follow after her, then Tom and Allison after they shared a glance. Henry steeled himself to go after the group. “To the True Machine.”

Henry did not question how she lived, nor how Jack did - he cried when he saw the man slink up beside Sammy, and he went over to him, hugged him, and apologized that he left his hat upstairs.

Jack always did have the most wonderful hugs.

***

Bertrum, the shell of his mechanical octopus, at least, waited for them at the end of a passage. 

“Climb up, I’ll take you nearly across,” the man stated, and Henry clamored over the seat. He looked back, noticing no one else followed. Bertrum looked at him sadly. “I did say only nearly. The rest, Henry, you must do on your own. But we all believe in you, as do the others who could not come to see you off.”

“Thank you,” Henry murmured, then repeated himself, louder, for all those around to hear. “For… for everything. Thank you all.”

He made his way over Bertrum, slipping off his arm to be waist deep in ink once more. He saw Joey traversing through a glass hall, limping, his good eye turned to Henry, watching him.

Henry breathed in, and prepared himself. 

He could do this.

***

They danced.

They twisted and spun and sang.

Henry’s pace was rushed, flailing, striving to hit points he knew he had to. Joey’s was fast, cool, calculated, grinning and swift. 

Henry’s lungs burned. His calves and thighs strained. His heart pounded. His arms ached. 

His soul was without and with a body all at once, and it was so painfully burning.

Yet he danced, and they spun.

***

The reel was so bright…

The sun was so warm…

Icarus? Where are you? 

He screamed and burned, reaching for the doctor to heal him, and he could not, though he tried. 

***

He tried again, eyes snapping open in a home he knew so well. 

The Joey that stood before him was familiar, but an elder version of the man he knew, hair short and eyes ancient.

He spoke.

Henry listened.

He went into the old workshop. There were noises of life, ghostly forms. 

Henry walked on to the break room, walking through beings moving in slow motion.

He walked down the stairs that were previously blocked from his access, and saw the trap door behind the steps. He slipped through the membrane, and felt his body cling around him, snapping his soul into place, the ink molding around him, the ink he knew so well, the ink of the falsehood he had created, now being used for good.

Johan was so smart, so brilliant.

Henry breathed, and looked around, and felt his body.

He was already clothed, but it was baggier in his stomach, the belt a bit loose - clothes for an older man than his body was. He caught his black and white reflection in the bathroom - and saw his beardless face. 

Henry did not bother staring long, he knew that he had a duty right now, and he stepped out of the music department bathroom.

Ms. Lamont shrieked and dropped a cup of coffee.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Henry quipped tiredly. Her arms wrapped around him. “Whoa! I….”

Henry closed his eyes and hugged her back tightly.

“It feels good to be back,” he whispered. Emma nodded against his shoulder, and she stepped back to wipe her eyes and looked over him.

“Not a day older,” she commented. “I wasn’t… well, you see, I was expecting you to look like your older self, honestly. I didn’t take part in… bringing you back because I was nervous about losing any of my dancing faculties.”

“Understandable,” Henry nodded. “Also bet that you weren’t expecting me to be monochrome either, huh?”

Emma shook her head, then steered him towards the infirmary. 

“They’re unhooking everyone right now,” she told him. “I didn’t believe it when they said that it worked, and… well, I suppose it serves me right that you should scare me.”

Henry only nodded, eager to see those he missed so badly.

He ran into Jack, hatted and skinned.

“Jack!” he cried out, eyes lighting up as he gave the bear of a man a bear of a hug. “Jack!”

“Henry!” Jack beamed, hugging him back just as strong. “Look at you! You look like you’re straight out of a cartoon!”

“Not for long,” Henry warned, winking. Jack laughed, shoving his shoulder a bit. Another man caught Henry’s eye, and he rushed over to him. “Sammy! I’m so glad to see you!”

“Funnily enough, I’m glad to see you, too, Stein,” Sammy snorted. Norman appeared beside him from the shadows and shook Henry’s hand as he said, “We’re mighty proud of you, Henry.”

“Very much so,” Grant added, Lacie nodding beside him. Shawn, thankfully  _ not  _ scantily clad in fancy underwear, hugged Henry tightly, and cheered, “We are going for drinks!”

“Not so fast,” Susie retorted, slapping Henry across the face before embracing him as well, then stepped back. “I’m so sorry. About the bindii. I just… couldn’t believe you, and so… I got mad, and asked for Allison’s help.”

“I’m sorry too,” Allison sheepishly remarked. Henry just hugged them both again, and whispered, “I’m glad to be back, and I’ll let bygones be bygones.”

Willy and Wally tackled Henry, both shouting over one another, their soft masses hardly any painful weight for the man, but his new body wheezed. They got off him, helped him up, and hugged him properly.

“We’re glad to see you again, doc,” Wally muttered. “And in one piece.”

“Before I get my hands on him, at least,” Bertrum commented, striding over. He had a stern, yet playful twinkle in his eye. He put both hands on Henry’s shoulders. “I am proud of you, Henry.”

“And we’re proud of you, too, daddy!” Alice grinned up at him, and he picked her up, kissing her cheeks, doing the same to each and every one of his children, kneeling to hold them all together, weeping softly over their heads. He came to Linda, and he told her, “And I’m proud of you, Linda. You’re amazing. You all are amazing.”

“Even though I’m mad at you for pulling what you did,” Linda began slowly, then hugged Henry, her chest shaking with restrained sobs. “I m-missed you, Daddy. I missed you a lot and I’m proud of you, too.”

Henry rocked his little girl, so proud of her, and so sorry for his actions. He told her so, repeating the words so many times, so she would hear him.

“We all are proud of you, Henry,” Thomas commented after they broke apart from their tearful embrace. “Joey was pretty sure you wouldn’t even want to come home.”

“But I did,” Henry murmured, his eyes locked with that ruby one that watched him from a bed. Walking as if in a dream, he came to the man’s bedside. “Joey….”

“Henry,” the man whispered, a halo of blue on the tips of his silvery white hair. He reached to touch his cheek, and chuckled softly. “Ironic that I always see you in black and white, and I can still tell when you’re not fully in your own body.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry told him, sincere. “From the bottom of my heart, I’m so sorry. Give me a chance, give me a chance to make it better, to be better.”

“What do you think we’re doing?”

Henry laughed, and reached within himself for gold, just as Joey pulled on the night sky.

Green blossomed around them, budding into new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for reading ;; it truly means a lot  
> there are only 2 more archs left in this story, and they might be less action packed, but i guarantee you, they are no less triumphant and satisfying.  
> thank you again <3


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